We were at a house party that seemed to last for days. There were excursions out, maybe to buy supplies. A massive snowstorm had struck the city. Trains were delayed, cars were stuck. The house became one familiar from my childhood, maybe the one we stayed in during summers in Woodstock. I saw the stairs that went from the second to the third floor, where there were two kids’ bedrooms for us. One for me and my sister and one for visiting cousins.