Two hours later, R.C. came grumbling about too many people using too much electricity as he opened the basement door. From the hallway, I could hear him flipping the fuse switches. “Hey, Mr. Nobody! Unplug all your things!” (R.C. is convinced that, whenever there is a problem with electricity, I’m the source of the problem.) Nothing happened. When he came back upstairs, he checked the side of the house and let out a blood-curdling scream. “That son of a hamster! He stole the box!” It seems that Mr. Hamsterson, a pot-smoking, prostitute-frequenting resident whom R.C. had evicted earlier that day decided to get his revenge on R.C. by stealing the local power company’s meter; when the LPC noticed the power flowing without being recorded, they cut the power. In short order the police and an LPC mobile unit arrived. As I walked back to my room, I heard R.C. say, “I know where that pin-headed suckface intends to spend the night; let’s go put him in handcuffs.” Did he find him? I don’t know; I didn’t care; because when I got back to my room, I found that the interruption in power had destroyed another iMovie–just as before, when the lights went out because I’d had eight devices plugged in to the one socket at my right, which is now black with grief.

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