CALL ME SNAKE

In Cambridge, Mass., where I live, you never know what you’ll hear on the street. Why just the other day, I overheard this conversation a few blocks from Harvard Square. “Hey, where you coming from?” asked a pedestrian we’ll henceforth refer to as Man One. (Please don’t call him “Chief.”) “Tufts,” replied the other, a cyclist who shall forever be called Man Two. “What’d you do there?” asked the first individual of the male persuasion. “Talked to some cosmologists,” replied the second, also of male extract. “Where do YOU go for that?” [AUTHOR'S NOTE: Though you may doubt the authenticity of this transcript, exchanges like this are commonplace in Cambridge. "Heard it on the street"-type reporting is notoriously unreliable, but in this case I am certain of recording the dialog verbatim--exactly as it happened--despite the fallibility of memory, etc. How can I be so sure? Well, I guess it's time for a small confession: I am Man Two.]