…you go to a gallery you have never heard of—Okay Mountain—and see absolutely no one you know. Not a soul. And this, in a town where I used to go out A LOT and knew at least fifty percent of the people at any restaurant, theatre or party. Still I forge ahead, pressing through the crowd to try and see the art because, well, that’s I’m there, right? I bump into one guy, in a hat, huddled with another guy, talking. The bump leads to apologies and looking in each other’s faces and then, suddenly there is one recognizable face in this sea of people, only it’s recognizable in a billboard, magazine, television kind of way. Startling really. To be completely adrift in the town I used to know so well and now the only person I recognize in a strange room full of strangers is Lance Armstrong. So odd. So very, very odd.