Sunday Morning.  Six AM.  Somewhere In The Sunset District of San Francisco.
 
The streets are empty as Phill and I walk back to the apartment.  The fog swirls to block our vision.  Porch light Will-O-Wisps line our gray path. 
 
I'm holding the remains of a bottle of gin and and a styrofoam container of some kind of eggplant dish.
 
Threads of fog mimic the haze across my own memory.  Phill and I had not been planning on doing anything particularly crazy. 
 
We climb over a chain-link fence and prepare to enter the heavily-wooded park, the final obstacle on our journey home.
 
I glance up at the trees, their upper branches sheathed in the mist. 
 
How did we end up here? 
 
All I had wanted from this night was some clam chowder in a sourdough bread-bowl...
 
Saturday Evening.  Nine PM.  Fisherman's Wharf.  San Francisco.
 
Phill, Megan, Will, and I sat down to eat in a restaurant by the bay.  I ordered a sourdough b0wl of clam chowder and subsequently was as happy as the aformentioned clams in said sourdough bowl.
 
After dinner, we strolled down the streets.  We padded out onto the small beach.  We looked out over the water and discussed the life, universe, and everything.  "Everything" for Phill and I was mostly scheming to steal a nearby, supposedly haunted pirate ship.
 
We made our way back to the parking area to retrieve the car.  As I was walking, I noticed a pretty girl walking towards us.  I tried to discretely check her out, but to my dismay I realized that she had stopped and was looking directly at me.  I felt my face flush and my mouth opened to stammer out an excuse when...
 
"Will!"

What?  The only people that ever call me "Will" know me from work or from...
 
"Victoria?"
 
It was Victoria.  From Arizona.  I'd taken three semesters of Italian class at MCC with her.  I hadn't spoken to her in about six months. 
 
Now, here we were, at Fisherman's Wharf, two mildly-intoxicated Italian students.
 
What are the odds of that?
 
She told me that she had moved here a just a few weeks ago.  It was her 21st birthday and she was just going out to celebrate.  "I can't believe I ran into you!" she exclaimed, "It must be Kismet!"
 
It'd been a while since I'd heard anyone give Kismet credit for anything.
 
"We're going down to the Condor tonight.  You should meet us there."
 
"Well, I'll have to see what Phill wants to do, but yeah, that sounds fun."
 
15 Minutes After Last Call, Speeding Away From The Condor Lounge
 
Phill and I were in an airport shuttle, heading back towards his apartment.  Victoria's roommate (the ironically named Christian) had essentially seduced the driver into moonlighting as our taxi.
 
She had settled for the airport shuttle after she had leaped onto a passing trolley.  She had made it down the block before the driver kicked her off.
 
Now, in the shuttle, Victoria and I sat and talked while Christian alternately ran around the bus, pole-danced, and accosted Phill. 
 
Megan and Will
 
At Phill's apartment, he had dashed in to grab some alcohol.  Then we headed towards Victoria's apartment. 
 
We hung out there for the rest of the evening.  At one point, a guy walked in all bloody and scraped.  Everyone there was glad to see him, and he introduced himself calmy as Eric.    
 
Then he went over to the sink and washed it all off.  He was an actor, and he had just been filming the riot scene of a movie. 
 
Later, Christian stole the gin and Phill's jacket and had ridden off on a bike.  She returned almost an hour later.  She still had the jacket but was missing most of the gin.
 
Phill and I stayed until a little before six am.  We opted to walk home.  I forget why, but I'm glad we did. 
 
I curled up to sleep at 6:30.  At nine am, I would meet Hagler for breakfast.  As tired as I was, I lay awake for some time before finally succumbing to sleep.