The morning amphetamines haven’t kicked in yet, and I’m having a tough time figuring out what I’m looking at. Is it one of those buildings where firefighters practice with their hoses and ladders?

Even the Chairs are cowering in the corner, uncertain what they’re supposed to be doing about the giant manta ray that swooped down into the missile silo.

And in this room, we have a giant hatbox. Or possibly a six-foot-across wedding cake. Why? What’s going to leap out of it? Will it hurt me?

Wandering over here, we seem to be in a lawyer’s waiting room.

Or maybe not. I’m not saying this is a bordello. I’m just saying… never mind. On advice of the legal counsel I waited for above, I’m not saying anything.

Now we seem to be in an office. Or a movie set. Possibly a furniture showroom.

Noooo… we’re in an airport? In Dubai? In 1978?

Ah hah! It’s a fire station! All is clear.

(Found by Beth, who says that it isn’t even in a residential area but instead is on a service road. That doesn’t really help with the confusion, does it?)