I saw this band on Saturday night. My friend does their makeup. They were lovely. They perform in tutus and it is somehow not as obnoxious as it sounds. All three of them are music teachers in NYC public schools and they have the funny. If you are in or around Brooklyn or LA, you should see their next shows.
So I am at this show, waiting in the back by the bar with the band. One of the girls asks me if I will please hand her whatever object her fiance, Adam, is awkwardly trying to pass over the bar. As though the world has room to get any smaller, I turn around and Adam, it turns out, is my old neighbor. I have this internal debate about whether he is the Adam I’m thinking of, but this family all have a very distinct flax-blonde-Brawny-man thing about them. So I’m pretty positive it’s him but now I can’t remember the defining thing I should remember about this person—of the four brothers, is he the one who lived in Germany for a long time, or the one we ran into in some random gas station on some random highway looking for left-over grease at a McDonalds that he could use as bio-fuel?
I get up the gumption to go say hello, and it turns out he is there with his sister—an old friend of mine—and his dad. It’s like a regular reunion. I don’t stay to chat, because I am too weirded out, and the dulcet tones of a cello are coming from the stage.
I always laugh when people are shocked that I run into people I know on the street in New York. “But it’s such a big city,” they say. Then every so often, I am utterly blown away that, Yes Walt, it is a small world, after all.
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