Only in Saskatchewan.

This is one of those "only in Saskatchewan" stories.

I took a digital art class last summer. It is my only formal art-type training, and I enjoyed it immensely. The professor lent me Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, and told me to get it back to him whenever. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean "sometime next summer," but these things happen and I am a bad person.

Sunday, I had lunch with the fabulous sprat. Afterwards, we were sitting outside, downtown, consuming frappuccino-type beverages, and discussing the book which I had finally read, the night before. I wasn't completely enamoured of it, but that is neither here nor there.

We're sitting there, in the middle of downtown shut up, we do too have a downtown, talking about the novel, and guess who walks around the corner?

If you guessed Sendhil Rhamamurthy, you're way off base. Al Gore would also be incorrect. If, on the other hand, you guessed my art prof, whom I have run into once on campus?

You are entirely correct. Seventy-two hundred and thirteen points for you!

There are not six degrees of separation in Saskatchewan. It's really much closer to two, and that's only because you don't actually remember everyone you've ever held a door open for in a random small town.