Bumping into someone with the same last name, whose first name is different from mine by just one letter, and whose dad's name is the same as my grandfather's name.
At the board game cafe, we're packed with our puffy coats and bags on benches around long, narrow tables. Beer bottles are placed at easy elbowing distance. One guy, red from drink and heat, roars with laughter at every suggestion that comes up in Cards Against Humanity.
Panhandlers press through the crowds outside of bars and nightclubs.
Rain in white slashes on the window. It's cozy indoors, just us, speaking little and sharing food.
She's a poet, her business card tells me. She says little about herself, and in that way becomes imbued with poetic mystery.
After dinner, they pass the time with Snapchat filters, forming images of elves, goblin aliens, and victims of demonic possession.
The restaurant is clean and unostentatiously elegant. It has dark wood paneling and surfaces that glow with intimate lighting. The food is arranged in neat, stiff patterns on spotless plates.