I am going somewhere in my wheelchair and I am going through other people's houses. I enter the back door, drive through the rooms and go out the front door. In the last house, a boy sees me and is angry. "What are you doing in my house?" he asks. I feel embarrassed. I don't know why I did this. I assure him I'm just passing through. I am not stealing things. He then relaxes. I go out and notice the house so I can return. It is made of cement block and white wrought iron trim. It's kind of ugly and I am surprised because the inside looked sort of ritzy. I see the numbers 5555 on the house and check the street signs. It's back a ways near the corner of 7th street and 11th street. I go on after double checking where it is so I'll remember.