In my hotel there’s a man dressed in turn-of-the-century clothes with a black mustache and a nice smile who lounges around the top of the stairs on the second floor next to the elevator. There’s a little girl in a ruffled dress with long hair who sits in the kitchen. Two doors down from my room there is a woman crouched in the closet; she’s dressed in 1930s-type clothes with short dark hair and she is absolutely terrified.
And that’s just here, where I’ve lived for three years–I’ve seen other stuff for years.