He's a bright little kid, but finding his way back home is a problem these days. The storm is coming and the great herd, somehow, knows. The large bodies slowly come to life, sending deep shivers all around the country. For a few weeks, they're restless. They keep changing places, as if this could have any influence on their impending fate. So, a bright little kid comes back from school, his head full of mathematics, history and geography, and he finds out that his own geography has been altered during the day, that his fearful and anxious house has decided to move, far enough for him to be lost for a few minutes, until he needs to ask someone for directions. The boy paddles down, and discovers that he now lives next to the Simpsons, or on top of Grumpy Ed's. Actually, it's not that bad. He is never really frightened because there's still light in the sky when he arrives at home, though this won't last forever. Also, having the neighbours changed everyday is kind of fun. He has never seen so many new faces. And his parents don't seem to worry about him, or about the house, or about the storm. Only his grandfather looks unhappy. House-training is not what it used to be, he says. These modern houses don't know their places anymore. A little whippin', that's what they need. Of course, since the Household Bill of 1789, whipping or any kind of punishment is strictly forbidden. The boy just learnt about the way people used to burn insubordinate houses to make an example of them. It was such a long time ago, and so barbaric a custom. Now, people know that their residences are just dead wood, inanimate bricks and dumb mortar, and that no particular feeling or understanding can be expected from them. The only way a house can retaliate is to fall down on you, they say, so don't hurt it. Is it really that simple ?, the boy asks himself when he