It's a slow, long drag and a few minutes yet before Santana can begin to consider the question, and even then, she does so with a massive roll of her eyes. Lucky that she smoked all those cigars, so that the itch at the back of her throat doesn't escalate into a full blown coughing fit and her façade of coolness remains intact that much longer. "Lima," she says on an exhale, billowing smoke chasing the word from her lips. "In Ohio. I'd be sorry for you if you'd ever heard of it, that place is a regular Stepford nightmare." She takes another hit, sucking deep and for too long, and her eyes begin to water as she hands the joint back to Wichita. Hallelujah for the dim evening light, she thinks. Having released her breath, she asks, "What about you?"