Where do I know your face from?

    I was at Stepping Stones thrift store on Two Notch when a shorter grey-bearded black gentleman passed me, turned, and said, "Where do I know your face from?" I told him that I had been about to ask him the same. I asked if he played jazz anywhere, since most of the people I know tangentially seem to be musicians of some kind or another, but he said no. So I said, "Dialysis place?" and he said yes. It was funny to find myself being a little nostalgic about that place. It wasn't really an awful place, and people were generally friendly and uniformly supportive. But it was dreadfully boring. Nevertheless, it was nice to see one of the nicer people there.