Friday Afternoon, 2:00 PM. Used my lunch break to walk across the river to deposit the artistic director's check in the bank (he's in Cambridge. . .I still haven't even met him). Lunch from Surdyk's (not just for booze, who knew): smoked beet salad with sesame seeds and ginger, tuna melt on focaccia. The perks of payday.
Friday Afternoon, 2:45 PM. Walking back across the Hennepin Bridge, goodies in hand, thinking about where Eric and I will have drinks after I get off work. Also concerned with the way my skirt keeps slipping clockwise around my body.
I look up just in time to see Vince Vaughn as I'm about to walk right past him. He's on his cellphone, surrounded by a couple of cronies, looking unusually tall. I smile and nod my head.
Wait.
What the CRAP is Vince Vaughn doing walking across the World's Shortest Suspension Bridge at 2:45 on a Friday afternoon? I moved out of New York, right? Sheesh.
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