In both the dream and waking worlds it is January 1991, Washington, D. C, Over four waking world years later, 21 dream world years.

Mild day, a low and darkening overcast. I'm standing on the walk in front of the Chinese restaurant at Wisconsin Avenue and Chesapeake Street N. W. It's half of a duplex, probably built about the turn of the century. Stucco over wood, it like most of the buildings in the block began as a home above/shop below. Who knows how many tenants have come and gone. I remember a mom&pop grocery, a record store where I got my first 45RPM of Blowing In The Wind. The Chinese cuisine is superb. I'm just out walking, so I'm casually dressed to say the least. A-2 style leather jacket, jeans, boots that haven't seen a shine lately. Who-knows-what for a shirt.

And she's there, walking up the sidewalk toward me. We are apres-ski today, though I doubt she's ever been on skis. Light brown stocking cap, slightly darker sweater with a horizontal pattern where horizontal patterns are most noticeable, darker brown pants. A smile that should put me on notice. She's gained some weight over the years; but every ounce is right where it should be.

At once we are upstairs, which has been stripped bare. The lumber of the walls is in surprisingly good condition. In the way of dreams we do not talk, but have talked.

She has invited me to join her for dinner. On one condition...
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... A medium-classy place on the Virginia side of the river, full night now. Apparently no reservations needed, as we're in a line outside the door; both dressed as we were - except for the bedsheet remnant tied around my head as a burnoose. The condition was that I am to be a sheik. This at the height of Desert Storm, when real sheiks in real burnooses are all over the District.

She smiles her slight smile. As for me, I'm none too confident about this.

Flash forward. Apparently the maitre d' is prepared to believe that sheiks dress like slobs, as I'm watching her at the salad bar, bent forward in a way that highlights two of the reasons I'm going along with this.

Then, flash back. Outside. She with that slight smile. Me thinking that, however expertly she worked it, it looks like a bedsheet.

One mistake, one slipup; and we could be a Diplomatic Crisis.

I hope that's not what she has in mind.