Red lines like tail lights traced ovals around my face in dingy newsprint. The lines raced across the countrysides of text, undulating over photos of mountains, casualty reports, and turn-of-the-century industrial fires.

I followed them, tiptoeing over Mr. Ree until somewhere between the bathroom and the galley kitchen I found it. The ink had run dry in the red pen, its bleeding turned to scratching and tearing. But here, the lines all converged. Hundreds of faces—many of them mine—circled along the way led to this singular house, it's windows colored with a technicolor blue.

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Eric is MrTheHuman

Gianni is GianniDiCrosta

Nate is HeroicHeadgear

Phil is Phil Bothun