Ditto to the concerns about jeopardizing memories. Thus far, I've always had those fears in the wakes of wonderful experiences (SCA, Habitat) as I ponder how to perpetuate them without mindless replication (SCA, Habitat: rounds two).

I think January 2001 was one of the best months of my life. (I say "my life" in a very colloquial sense, because I mean only my regular life and not the two summers I spent away from the "madding crowd," ensconced with SCA in the beautiful, timeless wilderness. Everything was judgedÑor did we even judge?Ñon such different values and premises that to compare the two would be impossible.) I can't even remember what I did that month, exactly. It was just a long, happy blur of walks and peoples' houses and Dunkin' Donuts runs while everyone was home for winter break. Yes, I have fond memories of that orange-and-pink chain of caffeine dispensers.

The one geographically closest to my house is located at the top of a small, steep incline on Oak Tree Road. It's the one where Jay and Janet and I would end up after most Monday night rehearsals during the second half of junior year. And during senior year, it's the one by which I would stop "on my way" (okay, but it was only mildly a detour) to piano lessons or work or rehearsal. The drawback is that exiting the parking lot is a big hassle; furthermore, it closes at 11pm. So we'd usually end up at one of the other two, which are open 'round the clock.

Dunkin' Donuts numbers two and three are located on Inman Avenue, just northeast of the town boundary, and on Parsonage Road, just before Menlo Park Mall. The Inman one is closer, but the Parsonage one in closer proximity to major through roads. So we'd usually end up at the former if we came from someone's house, but the latter if we were on our way home off the Parkway.

Though Edison is a huge, sprawling town of over 120,000, nothing is open last dinnertime save supermarkets, drugstores, diners, and these three D&D's at which my home friends and I have laughed and talked so often and for so long. Heck, I even remember being at one of them on our last, cold Christmas night after deciding that driving on the Parkway in a car with a frozen speedometer was a bad idea.

Hiten took one look at my wall of letters this weekend, shook his head, and said, "Just let go." Even if he weren't in the minority, I still couldn't. I can accept that I am living a new life in a new place with new dynamics and new people, and I can like—even love—it here. But I can't, and won't, forget.