Early the next morning, Celia greets you with a cheery knock at your bedroom door. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” You’re taken aback by her urgency, but after hurriedly dressing, you allow her to rush you through a breakfast of gritty shredded wheat and whisk you out the front door.

Once outside, Celia leads you on a brisk walk to catch a streetcar heading into Los Angeles.

When you arrive in the city, Celia strides away, leaving you scrambling to keep up. After a few minutes of brisk walking, beads of sweat begin to form on your brow. It really is quite sunny here, you realize. Ten minutes later, Celia suddenly turns into the doorway of a small, non-descript building. You stand for a moment and look around for a sign identifying this mysterious establishment but find none.

You . . .