The week that I moved into my apartment in Irvine (the last week of January, 1999), I got a haircut at the Supercuts on Barranca.

The girl who cut my (bright orange) hair that day was eighteen years old, just like me. Also just like me, she had dropped out of high school when she was sixteen and gotten her GED. Then she had learned a marketable skill, gotten a job, and moved out of her parents’ house, just like me.

Today I went to the Supercuts on 17th Street to get a haircut, and the same girl cut my hair. Apparently, just like me, she moved from Irvine to Costa Mesa because Irvine was too hot and too expensive.

Sure, that’s not as weird as running into the DOC waitress at Denny’s in La Mirada, but it’s still pretty weird.