As soon as Sheila welcomes you into the front door, you feel stoned.
There’s a richness of detail on every wall. You become hungry for something you didn’t know existed when you pulled into the driveway minutes ago. You want to spend hours looking at each lampshade, each spot of paint, each tile on the ceiling. You see tiny and large photos of her, posing famously with dignitaries from all over. Hallways diverge and bend, and there are mirrors everywhere. You feel you should leave a trail of breadcrumbs, in case you get lost.
She sure knows how be wealthy.