I live in this house with lots of rooms. I don't use most of them. I want a puppy and get one, but I want it to be smaller and cuter. Now there are many tiny kittens and a puppy. I pick some up and hug them and carry them around with me. I remember a back living room and my old TV is in there and I wonder why I never go use that room. I see connecting doors between rooms and remember this house is on the state line. Cars line up. One is going to drive through the connecting rooms and gets stuck or stopped and the next car screeches to a halt, nearly crashing, and the next and so on. There is a chain reaction pile up. Luckily no one really crashes. I am impressed. I go in to see what's the problem. These people are coming to buy the booze I can legally make on one side of the house and sell to the folks on the other side where it's illegal to make it. I go back into the living room, wanting to use the rooms more. I see an old file cabinet and look. The previous owners, old ladies, had their files in there. One of these days I need to clean it out. I look in. There are some empty files, in Braille, and lots of old papers. I pick up an Xmas card from a pile of letters and cards. It's from Pete and B and some other people. They look like the ones I have in my cards and letter box.