Back from the loveliest date, dreamy, delicious white wine in tall elegant stems, leather couch in a back parlor of a cozy wine bar, hung all around with sets of small antlers, and a few large, and even one or two deer heads, decorating the place in a vaguely - well, I don't know, not sinister, but in the dim light, as I looked around, there were an awful lot of small antlers hung like cameos or medallions from high up on the walls. What animal has such small antlers? I wasn't paying attention, I was much too distracted, sitting knee to knee, on this vast comfortable sofa in the dim recessed room where we could talk in private, me of my blog, us both of our situations, it was just too public, too open in the front room with the huge bar, with the silvered mirror scrawled over with the drinks menu, the bar still and empty and casual and elegant, with a view out ancient glazed wood doors, of a tree leafed out in light airy green and white - the only color, seemingly, at least as I recall it now, in this monochromatic space, with the delicious pours, and collection of antlers, obtained, as the proprietor told my companion, on ebay, from a collector in Austria, because the effect he was going for was of baronial or manorial lodge, only I kept feeling that perhaps, oh so deliciously, I was in Paris, Dora Maar for the early evening, of Hudson, in my elegant skirt outfit, bare legs, and sandals, listening to romantic crooning chanteuses on the stereo, as my date, all delightful conversation, hands and kisses, played Joel McCrea to my Jean Arthur, I kept peeling him off, only not too hard, it's just that I'd like to be able to return to this place again, sometime, in case things don't work out, besides, this is Warren Street, not Diamond, I murmured in his ear...