A Potentially Round Table  I'm with my mom, brother Wally, and sisters Heather and Ramona in Sydney, Australia. We're on a small white tour boat. I look at a map that has a number of very colorful buildings on it. They're red and yellow, and made into odd shapes like amusement rides. The buildings are very bright. I see them: see the area to which the map corresponds. They line a shore a ways off in the harbor. The boat docks and the captain immediately starts taking tickets for the next tour. There are two grayish-white dogs on board. One dog has a bandana on, like a ribbon, to indicate that she is a female dog. We get off the boat and walk up a street to a restaurant. The area is older and has some brick. It's not dirty or uncared for, but is plain, quaint, and old. We walk. There are a few people walking near us, maybe going to the same place. We may pick up our pace to beat them to the place. The restaurant is on the left side of the road. We enter. I know the restaurant is about to close, and the bar will be open. I'm at a table with Wally in a small square room. There are short hallways into adjacent rooms where there are tables at which people are dining. We make commotion, tripping, kicking, or knocking things over. The people in one of the next rooms, behind me, seem to be upper class, "proper and decent" folks. They are annoyed by the ruckus we have caused, disturbing their meal. I think of closing the doors to the room so we won't disturb them. The table we're situated at seems to be quite open, in a well-traveled area of the restaurant. It is square, and made of dark smooth hardwood. It has a leaf on each side that flips up, creating a round table. I say to Wally that while the square table will accommodate four people nicely, since we have five people we should flip up the leaves to accommodate us all more comfortably. He doesn't seem keen on this idea. I think it's an easy decision for the comfort, practicality, and convenience of us all. I'm in an adjacent room. All the rooms have been decorated with tact and taste, and are neat and quaint, though others might describe them as elegant. There is a sort of mixer occurring: some event where people are socializing. A familiar face and voice catch my eye: my high school teammate Simon Naver! I stand up and turn around in surprise, asking myself if I'm dreaming. Simon is smiling and happy, and greets me energetically. I ask him in disbelief what the hell he's doing here. He replies that he's here because something happened to our old teammate Larry Rollie. Larry was supposed to be here to receive an award or honor, or was named to a special project or assignment in the community. Simon is here on Larry's behalf.