I'm at work but it is the old M City house. A man asks me about my banjo. I had advertised it for sale. I say, "Oh yes," and bring it out. It's all beat up, with strings missing, a guitar neck, and a square cigar box body. He's pretty contemptuous and asks brusque questions. I can't remember some of the answers of how to restring it and so on. The man, an administrative person in a 3 piece suit, asks me how it will sound, seeing as how it is so crummy. I am a little annoyed and say, "It's the length of the neck and the size of the body that makes the sound." He had suggested we change it radically. He says, "Let me hear it." I try three chords, after trying to remember which ones go together. I do A, E and D? It is lovely. We are both impressed. He says, "Well, I am interested. Let's have dinner tomorrow night and discuss this in more detail." I agree, trying to remember his name. I thought it was Bill Pourter. I feel a little scared as it's plain. It's a date. I look at myself. I'm wearing a lovely dress, with nylons, my hair done nicely, etc. Ethan comes in and asks where his photo album is, the one with his wedding pictures in it. It's not where he left it for people to see. I say, "I'll go ask Valerie," and I'm thinking, "Oh, I want to look at them." Valerie says, "There's a check out sheet near the place where they were." Ethan says, "It's gone too." Valerie says, "Oh, it must be one of the 'boys'. They probably have it," (her office is in the kitchen).