Working alongside of them were Tom and Rita, Lil's parents, sleeves rolled up, forearms bulging with new, toned muscle. The group stopped in its tracks and Lil went to them, stumbling on the wooden sidewalk. I expected hugs. There were none. In their stead, parents and daughter stalked each other, shifting weight and posture to track each other, maintain a constant, sizing distance. "What the hell are you doing?" Lil said, finally. She didn't address her mother, which surprised me. It didn't surprise Tom, though. He dipped forward, the shuffle of his feet loud in the quiet night. "We're working," he said. "No, you're not," Lil said. "You're destroying. Stop it." Lil's mother darted to her husband's side, not saying anything, just standing there. Wordlessly, Tom hefted the box he was holding and headed to the Mansion. Lil caught his arm and jerked it so he dropped his load. "You're not listening. The Mansion is _ours_. _Stop_. _It_." Lil's mother gently took Lil's hand off Tom's arm, held it in her own. "I'm glad you're passionate about it, Lillian," she said. "I'm proud of your commitment." Even at a distance of ten yards, I heard Lil's choked sob, saw her collapse in on herself. Her mother took her in her arms, rocked her. I felt like a voyeur, but couldn't bring myself to turn away. "Shhh," her mother said, a sibilant sound that matched the rustling of the leaves on the Liberty Tree. "Shhh. We don't have to be on the same side, you know." They held the embrace and held it still. Lil straightened, then bent again and picked up her father's box, carried it to the Mansion. One at a time, the rest of her ad-hoc moved forward and joined them. # This is how you hit bottom. You wake up in your friend's hotel room and you power up your handheld and it won't log on. You press the call- button for the elevator and it gives you an angry buzz in return. You take the stairs to the lobby and no one looks at you as they jostle past you. You become a non-person. Scared. I trembled when I ascended the stairs to Dan's room, when I knocked at his door, louder and harder than I meant, a panicked banging. Dan answered the door and I saw his eyes go to his HUD, back to me. "Jesus," he said. I sat on the edge of my bed, head in my hands. "What?" I said, what happened, what happened to me? "You're out of the ad-hoc," he said. "You're out of Whuffie. You're bottomed-out," he said. This is how you hit bottom in Walt Disney World, in a hotel with the hissing of the monorail and the sun streaming through the window, the hooting of the steam engines on the railroad and the distant howl of the recorded wolves at the Haunted Mansion. The world drops away from you, recedes until you're nothing but a speck, a mote in blackness. I was hyperventilating, light-headed. Deliberately, I slowed my breath, put my head between my knees until the dizziness passed. "Take me to Lil," I said.