The moon was full and the iridescent clouds, soothingly colored like soap bubbles, moved to and fro over it, like container ships against the lights of a harbor. Homer put his head back and looked up at the bright moonlight. His mind thought of explanations: variation of index of refraction, particles in the clouds scattering light, certain frequencies of light being absorbed by droplets. The heavy weight on his left arm stopped him from formulating a proper hypothesis--not that it would have been correct or wouldn't have been so ridiculously off the mark the physics department would have laughed at him until the moon became full again.
 
"Do you love me?" Homer looked down down her face as the moon illumined it in its full glory.
 
"I do," Homer looked down.
 
In front of them, between the sidewalk and the street, the branches of an oak tree invited them to shelter underneath. They sat down on the grass with their backs to the trunk. Each shifted for a few seconds but finally found a comfortable position.
 
"When will this be over?" she wondered.
 
"In a good or bad way?"
 
"A good way," she smiled. "Or a bad way, if you prefer."
 
"'War on Drugs'. 'War on Filth'. What if they declare a 'War on Fraud' and try to prosecute all phreaks under RICO?"
 
"McGovern can't win. We'll have four more years of that damn lying crook. And everybody loves him!"
 
"Let me be honest with you," Homer leaned close. "I voted for him in 1968. I honestly thought he would end the war. But my brother got drafted anyway the year after."
 
"And I was 19," she responded, "I couldn't vote!"
 
"But we can both now," Homer reached his arm over and it settled into a snug spot over her left shoulder.
 
"Have you ever thought about vernacular geography?" Ada asked.
 
"No," admitted Homer.
 
"What makes something 'in the area'? What makes it 'near' or 'far'? What gives things names?"
 
"Lines on a map, I suppose."
 
"What's the 'Inland Empire'?" tested Ada.
 
"Riverside and San Bernardino Counties, except the eastern desert parts," responded Homer.
 
"How do you define when the desert ends and the suburbs begin?" propounded Ada.
 
"Population density. Commuting patterns. These things are quantifiable, and have been," said Homer.
 
"But the people who live there or near it have their own definition. Increasingly, numbers are used to replace vernacular region names. Instead of a large region with a few million population, we now have three numbers--an area code. Instead of a small city neighborhood or rural township, we now have five numbers--a ZIP code."
 
A gust of wind made the leaves shake raucously, and a mockingbird perching on a sturdy branch flew away.
 
"Let's go," said Ada. Homer stood up.
 
"Come on, don't make me have to jump up."
 
Homer stretched out his hand. Ada took it and Homer helped her up. They kissed on the lips, turned back, and began to walk home. Homer felt her arm around his waist; and he knew that it would be there all night and in the morning.