I think I know this girl

Was it the amaretto and coke?
Was it the poor lighting in the Latin American Club bar?
I was standing tonight at the aforementioned Latin American Club at 3286 22nd St. in San Francisco's Mission District with my sister Inger and friends Mark and Laura and I thought I recognized a girl hanging out with her friends in the bar.
How could that be possible? I have never lived in San Francisco, only in the Bay Area suburbs.
There's no way I could know...
Emboldened by the amaretto and coke (probably), I excused myself from my sister and friends and walked over to the girl.
I had to know for sure.
"Are you Ann Friedman?"
"Erik?!?!?!"
Sure enough.
There are thousands of bars in San Francisco and 744,230 residents and I was in a bar with a Dubuque native who had served as a reporter intern at the Telegraph Herald, my newspaper employer.
It turns out Ann is working as an intern at Mother Jones magazine and was hanging out with some friends at the Latin American Club, an atmospheric bar with an eclectic (eccentric?) decor that ranges from large painted portraits of chihuahuas and a large-headed baby doll with its pants fallen down around its ankles.
Ann and I were both shocked to find each other at the same bar.
There is an old saying, however, that San Francisco is really just a small town.
After tonight, I think the saying might be right.