Dinner With Jane  I'm in a place that is like home at dinner with some women. One of the women, on my left, has long straight blond hair and fair skin. I recognize her face, and seem to know some about her. There is a brunette woman there. The conversation comes around to venereal diseases, and how people get them. The blond woman talks as if she knows about these diseases and how one gets them. The meal draws to a close and the brunette woman gets up to leave, nonchalantly urging her friend, who is another brunette, to leave as well. She does this to leave the blond woman and I alone, to try to get us together as a couple. I sit with the blond woman in a nervous, uncomfortable silence. I'm not aggressive: I don't try to kiss her. There's a moment when I look at her and have the opportunity to do so when it would be okay, but I don't. I act shy. It seems to me that she wants to have a sexual encounter. I know she smokes, and I take this into consideration when thinking of kissing of having a sexual encounter with her. It seems I'm walking near a fence line not far from the table when I think this. I'm alone. It's drizzling outside and I'm wearing my heavy yellow raincoat. I meet my old school classmate Rita Bauer and another woman from our high school who have just arrived back from a study abroad experience. I talk with them. Rita and I comment on the cold, rainy weather. We both think it's cold, and we're dressed for it. It seems many of the other people don't think so, and are not dressed for cold. I'm walking down a large hallway. I see many people I know from my grade school years: Gino Teavor, Jerry Kasper and his girlfriend, Bud Slick, Mike Brimms, and others. At the end of the hallway is a mail area. I try to get my mail, going to box 369. I try to dial the combination: 17-34-44. I don't dial it properly: don't turn the correct number of turns, and can't open the box. I try several times, with no success. A man next to me gets his mail by reaching through an opening behind the mailboxes and pulling out his mail from the opening in the back. I manage to get my box open slightly and slip my mail out. I have a big stack of mail: about ten letters. Some are business, some personal. I see a letter that looks like it has my ex-girlfriend Annie Thomas' handwriting on the envelope, but I don't think it's from her, rather, from another woman with similar handwriting. I walk back from the post office down the hallway. There are stairs in the hallway, and people are stopping and sitting down all around the steps to read their mail.