Sycamore Lane

You're standing in the middle of Sycamore Lane, suitcase at your feet. It’s late afternoon. A woman with frizzy hair and gardening gloves waves from a porch. MRS. CALDWELL (cheerfully nosy): “Well, well, well! You made it. You really look like your... Never mind. Come on in, dear! Everyone’s waiting to meet you at the block party. Hope you like chili dogs and overly personal questions.” (She leans closer, voice low.) “Oh—and just a tip. Don’t ask too many questions about House #9.