6 degrees of connection

There's a chilly grey sky out, hurrying to pull a thick cloudblanket over itself before Winter hits. Here at Winning Coffee, the regulars of the university district are crowded into two warm, friendly rooms. At the front table - the one with the plants and the tiki lamp - we're playing 6 degrees of separation. Or more like 6 degrees of connection: in this coffeeshop, as in this part of Albuquerque, the circles of acquaintance are likely to overlap, sooner or later, in a natural motion. Like the ripples that spread slowly, from rocks dropped in a lake at various points, eventually will wave across to each other.

Four of us who frequent this place, but aren't acquainted, have just rippled into each other's circles. In a spontaneous conversation that might result in a road trip. The woman sharing her table with me has overheard the other two talking, and politely offers a contribution. When they turn to include us, she tells them, "I know you medium-well, and you I don't know at all but I've seen you here." I, too, only know the tall blonde woman from sight. But her friend, the beautiful-word-weaver, has been linked to my world more than once over the last seven years. Via an ex and then two of my closest friends. (Finding one of those friends, in fact, was probably the only reason I met the ex in the first place.)

The blonde woman's thinking of moving to Silver City. My companion's always wanted to go there, but doesn't like to travel alone. I affirm that the Gila's beautiful, and it's been too long since I was down there. In the good cheer of the moment (maybe the cold outside helps), we all write down our phone numbers and give them to the woman who's moving. Maybe she'll call in a few weeks, and we'll share a ride. Maybe I'll have to pass, because of work. Either way, it's warmed the day to remember that connection can be this simple, and this possible.