_At home, but with a sense of urgency, of imminent otherwhereness._ HIM: Quick! Love! ME: Uh, um, uh, um, I, uh, HIM: Damn it! It’s too late! _A bicycle squeaks down the street outside. The moon is full but you wouldn’t know it unless you went outside. The fresh air comes in the window causing you to ask yourself, is it ever too late? Or has it been too late from the beginning? And would you know the difference?_ ME: Come here, come here, come here . . . .