We were in a college town where we kept stealing everything from everyone. We were staying in a flophouse that catered to rich and poor alike. We kept listening to stories from the other residents. Michael said his friend “Hot” Charlie was having a rough time and we needed to go pick him up. I jumped in the car with Michael’s phone and headed over to get Charlie. I looked at the phone, which was now Charlie’s phone, and there was a text message that read, “Your divorce has been finalized.” I picked up Charlie and we texted Michael. Apparently he was having trouble with the front door of the flophouse. It wouldn’t open.

We drove recklessly back there to get him. He was listening to one of the residents tell a story, and suddenly he heard the Key he’d been waiting for. He went up to an old-fashioned cart that was parked outside. It looked like a wooden cart where a traveling tradesman would keep all their stuff. He pulled out a ratty old leatherbound book and opened it. He said the Key and then used it to draw a handle on the page. He turned the handle and it opened some kind of door or portal. “All right!” he said. “Mike Deez, Mike Deez, you owe me some food, you sly motherfucker.”

We went through the portal and found ourselves in a labyrinth of hallways that led to various rooms. I guess this was Mike Deez’s house. We went from room to room looking for food. We reached a room with a sofa and some machinery. We could hear the disembodied voice of Mike Deez speaking in the next room. It sounded like he was hosting a talk show—possibly from beyond the grave? “If you’re going to be handsome and successful,” said the voice, “you have to know yourself and what you’re capable of.” There was thunderous applause.