We had gone out to celebrate in Little Italy at a restaurant started many years ago by the mafia. A sign at an old old hotel next to it said Tamiami Trail and this was comforting to me. A lady ??? said it's an old Indian path all the way from Maine to Florida. She was talking about the abandoned building down the street and her frustration buying the building. I said, "Where does Zeno live? ??? I grew up with him. I saw him at the 7-11 last time I went home. He looks awful. She acted like she didn't hear me. She was in love with him. The waiter brought food. We were reading stories. Eileen was in the special seat and she was looking at the kid's book I did in art school. There were not enough chairs at the table. I got more for 2 fraternal twins. There were leftovers that looked better than the food but I was too chicken to ask him to leave it on the table. Shrimp, crabs were left over and they were waking up in the kitchen, wiggling around. I threw one on the floor to teach him a lesson. His claw broke off. I tore some of the sweet flesh to share with Dora but her mouth was full of cookies. The class was reading stories. Eileen had an empty brown paper bag. She would tell a story and 3 little baby mice would appear where the empty bag was. When I blinked they turned to 3 baby chicks. The phone was ringing on the table. A guy from NYU played the 'sound pitch,' which was a tuning thing for musicians to check and see if they're in tune. "It was very simple," he said, "Yeah, I play for the philharmonic. (the sound pitch.) He spent all his time writing songs about squirrels.