Your new house is sunny, labyrinthine, and crowded with friends. Single story Spanish; the color of the light looks like Los Angeles. "Have you found all the rooms?", you ask someone, leading her around corners through empty bedrooms and storerooms and hallways, winding, more or less the shape of a question mark, to a final large bedroom containing a bed and dresser and nothing else. You tell her, "The landlady's crazy, of course." Back in the main room everyone's enjoying the party; you can hear the next door neighbor practice bass guitar.