Familiar Strangers

I was walking on Sunset Mountain and passed a couple coming from the other direction. They smiled and said hello. As they passed I heard him whisper, “Do you know him?” And she said, “Yes” in such a way that sounded like she’d seen me somewhere but didn’t know where. “Do you know him?” she asked. “I’ve seen him around,” he said. Connie and I have this conversation wherever we go in Asheville. “Do you recognize him?” “Where do we know her from?” We’re a town of familiar strangers. (“A Sunday on La Grande Jatte” by Georges Seurat - 1884)