The neighborhood association meeting was held in the recreation room of a local Lutheran church. I had had a couple of cocktails before arriving, so I was less anxious than I might be otherwise, walking in to a room full of strangers. It was a cold and rainy evening so Cassie and I were wet and harried as we rushed in the door. Our contribution to the potluck was tabouli. We were greeted by a bald disinterested man who snacked on a styrofoam plate of small, indeterminate types of potluck-type casserole based foods. The beef, tomato sauce and macaroni mixture left a thin red film on the plate as he scooped up the last bits with a plastic fork. Maybe it was the alcohol and the exhaustion from the day, but both Cassie and I stood awkwardly at the entrance, waiting for some undetermined thing to happen. "Be sure to sign in," bald greasy plate guy finally said to us. I wondered if the macaroni and beef mixture came with cheese on it, absentmindedly signing my name and Cass...