So I go to this swanky architecture presentation.

It's put on by some folks yipyappin' on how wicked theys riverfront condos are.
And fair dinkum, the condos are wicked.
I utilize the free food and drink to the best of my abilities and end up happy.

At the end of the night, I kindly get a ride to the closest bus stop, and wait.

The bus is fairly full, so I head to the back, and stop right next to a seated ruffian.
Plugs in his ears, covered in tattoos, skinny as all gitout, and a wild look in his eyes.
It is Bones. I haven't seen Bones since I left for Chicago, 4 years ago. He used to make the burritos at my favorite bar, The Comet.
http://www.cometbar.com/
He recognizes me too, but has no idea what my name is, because our relationship consisted entirely of me giving him tips for burritos, rides home, and someone to talk about punk rock with if he wasn't working.

Bones is from Louisiana, so he tells me that his family is safe now, and the family home is intact, evidentally they are from the burbs right next to that ruined bridge that kept showing up on the news. His good news is tempered with the fact that his scooter broke down and "today has been one big fuck up."

I love running into folks from my past.