How could I forget a little piece of home?

After writing last night, I felt like I was forgetting something, and this morning I've realized what it was. On our way to dinner last night, Mark and I were stopped on the street by a guy with a blond mop of curls (our first clue he wasn't Indian), who looked a little desperate and asked us if we spoke English. He was looking for a particular restaurant, which we didn't know, but we did our best to direct him to the Gold's Gym that we remembered seeing, which he said the restaurant was near. He asked where we were from, and I said Chicago, and he said he was also from Illinois, a town called Sheffield, and was a student at U of I. I told him I was originally from near Peoria, and he said that his friend was also from Peoria. He was in a hurry, so after a few more niceties, he ran off to hop into the autorickshaw where his friend was waiting. A few seconds later, a head popped out of the autorickshaw and said, "Peoria?! What school did you go to?" I said, "Actually, I'm from Eureka." And he said, "I grew up in Dunlap." So it is a small world after all -- I came to the other side of the world and met someone who might have been born in the same hospital as me. Weird...in a nice way.