Especially when all the people from the small town where I used to live migrate here. Over the past two and a half years I’ve bumped into a fair handful of people I knew back in Athens (none of them friends, really). Then on Monday, Will e-mailed me at work to ask if I wanted to go see a screening of a documentary being shown as part of the Brooklyn Independent Cinema Series. I looked at the description of the film, Johnny Berlin, about a man in his 40s who was working as a porter on a West Coast luxury passenger train. And what do you know, I knew both the director (Dominic DeJoseph) and the porter (John Hyrns) from way back when I was about 17 or 18 years old. It always unsettles me when I’m confronted with intersections like this, because I can’t shake the notion that I’m not connected to very many people. Anyhow. The film was really quite good, and I had a brief, pleasant chat with Dominic (with whom I had only the barest nodding acquaintance back in the day), who hasn’t aged a bit since I last saw him, probably at least twelve years ago. I guess I haven’t changed much either, since he recognized me, too. So that was nice.