There’s a new street that goes on as far as the eye can see, but the eye cannot see far but for the fog that chokes the faint light from the street lamps. You can’t see that the street goes on for miles but you trust that it does. Why wouldn’t it? You’ve been told it does. Seeing is believing but you can still believe what you cannot see, and you cannot see the street through the fog.

But nonetheless there is a street. It’s quiet, dark, and cold. If I look left, I can see my house. Well, I think it is my house. It sure looks like my house. But the house to my right looks like my house, too. In fact every house looks exactly like my house. Yet, when I walk inside every house that looks like my house it is most decidedly not my house. So now I find myself looking down the street I cannot see at house after house that looks like my house that is not my house.

But I am told that one of them is my house. I just have to keep looking down the street I cannot see.