I have moved to a large home with a narrow small land profile somewhere south of Boston, maybe just over the Rhode Island border. It is on a very fast-paced section of tight roads, with a sharp corner that cannot be seen in the dark. The house is both inside and outside, and includes this very narrow garage, and directly next to it is a sales counter, so a prime house for an artist like myself, with something to sell. I have moved here because I'm returning to teaching at SAIC. At some point a car careens into a hill right next to the house because it's missed the dark turn. I realize that my old 90s Volvo and a 90s minivan are gone/have been stolen. I walk up the street and find a man living in another house who says obviously this can happen around here. So why are we here if it happens so instantly after moving in? Well, clearly the neighborhood is still good. The houses are large. I walk back down the slight hill to my home where my station wagon may actually be there now. And the world has shifted. I'm trying to get back north to Boston/Chicago and wondering where the nearest commuter rail is, since I'd prefer that to driving and dealing with parking. I exist in an overhead view for a moment, as if peering at a map. I discover that the road where the crash had happened is actually farther from my house than before, across a field.