What could she possibly be seeing, I thought. Her eyes were fixed at a very mundane horizon. Becoming aware of my uninvited encroachment, she took a deep conspicuous breath. “You are the only other person I know who travels between memories and the present as often as I” she said. I knew what she meant. And she yearned for companionship, not just approval. I did know. Sometimes, time itself loses its grip on reality. It becomes utterly irrelevant, superfluous. Perception is blurred but not in an illusionary way — rather in a way that makes you think blurred is what it should be. These are the times when you feel every morsel in your being. And your mind, your mind fills up with dissimilarities that must look like a cheap display of junk at a flee market. “Is that good or bad?” I asked with mischief and a dose of apparent impatience. It was getting late, and I never liked driving on those iddy biddy roads full of sheep and goat. “You want to hit the city and your pub again, don’t you?” she said. “No” was a swift reply, followed by the compulsory lengthier explanation: “I have and will have been there.” She smiled. “All that are dissimilar are not… or rather not be.”