Bob is really, really lost. He wasn’t even really going anywhere in particular when he got on his bike this morning, but for some reason, he just can’t remember how to get home from where he’s at right now. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, either, except the storm clouds are rolling in, the skies are getting dark, and this particular neighborhood doesn’t seem like it has any coffeeshops or bars or really any place to sit and wait out a storm and get back his bearings. He’s really tempted to just knock on one of the doors and see if someone can point him in the right direction, but there’s something unfriendly and foreboding about this row of small, flimsy houses that makes him think that that might not be a good idea.