“It'’ s charming,” Ireply, “but what are you gonna do if the metal detector goes off at the airport?” | leave them giggling in the elevator as | get off on a floor where I' ve heard there would be lots of action. | follow one group, but only the couple in front really knows where they’ re going. But they happen to be on the way to their own room, and when they get there, they go in, close the door, and we are all left out in the corridor, looking like a perplexed ant farm. Everybody turns around. | am now at the front of the line, so | let them all pass by me as they head in the opposite direction, strolling briskly, except for the one-legged man with the roller skate and crutches, who is gliding gracefully along the carpet. Passersby are asked, in vain, “Where’ s the party?” We finally find a room with a porn photo on the door, which is slightly open. Inside, there are around fifty people in semi-darkness. Exhibitionists and voyeurs, together again. Here a blow job, there a copulation, everywhere an undulating juiciness. There is an unspoken homophobia—no man is relating sexually to another man—but there is lots of lesbian libido. In order to keep a low profile, | have ripped several pages out of my notebook and folded them in half, so that | can take notes unobtrusively. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015216