Late night grocery run, strange people. A trio of russians, one very small woman, one very tall man and one shaggy one, pondering with devout intensity the selections in the liquor aisle. A woman with whiteface make up and brown rings around her eyes, carrying a teddy bear. And outside, for some unknown reason a charter bus idling, the thrum of the engine, the smell of the exhaust, and the cold rain triggering one of those extraordinary full body sense memories; Charlottesville in the early dark of winter, waiting to drag my bag into the bus and go home -- for Thanksgiving? For Christmas?