In an attempt to get out of the house more, I took a bike ride down the Minneapolis Greenway to Trader Joe’s in St. Louis Park, and then back. I stopped in to pick up some cheap bubbly. As I walked into the liquor section (Minnesota requires food and booze be kept in different rooms.) out walked a woman who looked exactly like someone I knew in high school. Now I don’t really know that anyone I knew in high school lives around here. Well, there’s one, but I don’t see him, except in weird airport encounters.

I was so busy feeling like high school was creeping up behind me, ready to strike, that I didn’t think to say “Hey, are you from mid-Michigan.”

It’s not that I hated high school that much, though I was certainly ready to go. But I live two states away now. It’s a small town, and I keep up with something like six people I went to high school with. I like it that way.

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