So, but anyway, yes…the seashells just then were in a small, zippered compartment in my backpack, which itself was in the spare bedroom of the house that I was visiting (in the neighborhood I was telling you about, where my friend and his girlfriend live), and I’d forgotten about them (the shells), or wasn’t thinking about them (for I was conversing with my friend on the porch, and was interacting with his dogs), though the shells were nearby all the same, in a new place, just like they would be later, when I got the backpack home to my apartment, in a city to the north, after I’d driven all that way (along highways and state roads, and thoroughfares and streets), and had unzipped the compartment and had let them scatter out, placing them side by side on the floor, to look at for a moment, before transferring them to, and arranging them on, the sill under the window where my A/C unit is, and on which there are also a few birthday and holiday cards that I have received over the years and have kept for sentimental reasons and am unlikely to get rid of, though by now their edges have curled and their colors have faded.