I don't know where I am - standing before the Triceratops skeleton at the Peabody, where I'd beg my father to take me nearly every Saturday afternoon. From our place beneath the Brontosaurus, I tell her about the art contest where I took second place in the 0-7 age group for my drawing of the Thunder Lizard (remember my brother, so disappointed at receiving only an honorable mention in the 8-14 group, and how he would stop drawing soon after - and remember wishing mine was as good as his). She realizes with a giggle that her and I would have been placed in the same age group if she had entered since she was zero years old when the contest took place - way back during the Cretaceous Period, and how about that Stegosaurus? - such an odd creature! I don't know where I am while drinking cold ale at Naples. Rooms dark and brown with the history of Yale carved deeply into the tables and walls. Beer soaked wood. My initials can still be found in the booth near the leaded glass windows, chiseled with SG's '65 Mustang key while on an early date in October of '89. And long before that, Dad would bring us here for slices and root beer, name etching and Centipede. Alas, there are no longer any video game machines or cobalt blue 1965 Mustang convertibles. We sit, sip and talk in the dark and I revel in her Carolinian drawl and constant smile... I don't know where I am, walking arm and arm down Orange St. discussing the things that attract, that keep apart - and how often they are the same thing. Impossible friendships with deep and vigorous roots - easy love affairs that spawn only quick weedy flowers. In an antique shop she spots a set of jadite cups and saucers and we both admire their milky green color. They are neatly wrapped in cream colored tissue and placed in a bag with thin arching handles. On Temple St., we talk about how Candide is every Kurt Vonnegut book, and of those polar forces we manifest... I don't know where I am, amid the sweet scents of the third floor with E and Owsley, gazing out the beautiful shafted windows which face the crown of an enormous elm, and thousands of grey lines blurred by bright green buds. I don't know where I am when hot coffee is served in a jadite cup, but I don't mind.