My first two post-college friends were Tim Wagner and Laura Hatmaker.
I was living in Chapel Hill, in a tiny 2nd floor sublet and managing a newsstand. Laura worked at the adjacent video store and Tim was the previous newsstand manager. He had stayed on as an employee after my reign of terror began, but it was short-lived, as he submitted his 30-second notice within a week of my tyrannical rule.
It was a Saturday and I was making the nostalgic trip to Greensboro, showing off the city to my two new friends. Matt Johnson was going to tag along. We were all to meet up at my apartment. Matt and Laura arrived on time. Tim called.
He was stranded at some apartment/condo complex on the outskirts of town. He had ended up there the night before and had no way home. Could we swing by and pick him up?
Driving down 15-501, we neared the complex. Tim was on the side of the road, wearing what were clearly last night's slept-in jeans and a not-so-clean white t-shirt. His hair was doing that mad scientist thing that it can do. He had a bicycle. When he saw my Jeep pull alongside of him, he picked up the bike and threw it into some bushes along the highway and climbed in the car. He took the bike because it was too far to walk from the strange apartment to the roadside. He had no idea who owned the bike. Never did.
That was probably only the second time he and Matt had ever met. God that was funny.