You notice the sunlight outside has quickly begun to fade, threatening to plunge your room into darkness. You sigh and walk towards the lamp in the far corner of your room. As you walk, you glance down at the postcard in your hand. Your eyes are greeted by an explosion of neon pinks and yellows, colors so bright they manage to glow even in the twilight gloom. After lighting the lamp, you take a closer look. Captioned “A Pergola, California Residence,” the image shows a walkway lined with white pillars on either side and evenly spaced wooden slats overhead. The passageway is overgrown with flowers and foliage. Bursts of red, yellow, and periwinkle are blossoming out of lush greenery on either side of the walkway, and pink flowers cascade down from the wooden lattice overhead.

You consider the scene for a moment, before remembering your aunt is waiting in the hall. Still holding the postcard, you walk over and open the door.

“Sorry to bother you—but it is the first of the month, and I’ll be needing your payment as soon as you’re able,” she says. “And why are you wearing your coat indoors?”

She’s right. You’ve forgotten to remove your coat. “Chilly in here,” you respond. Suddenly conscious of the postcard in your hand and eager to avoid more questions, you hastily stuff it into your coat pocket next to the stack of bills from the jeweler. The bills. You had almost forgotten they were there.

One hundred dollars—that ought to buy you a one-way ticket across the US, with a bit to spare to get you settled in California. On the other hand, you’ve never been farther West than New York. Who knows what awaits you on the other side of the continent. And $100 will certainly make you comfortable here in Syracuse for a few months.

Your aunt is looking at you, patiently waiting for a response—and a payment. You . . .