Take notes. Caleb is a lucky guy. Curiosity drives us to a film set where people actually live. With all that stuff. Caleb has a voice. That is what a camera is, a voice. That is what a video is, a voice. The spaces that reflect us are accumulated voices. My own voice talks to spaces. Horses. No whispering. Homo sapiens have been living in horse stables since day one. My roommates were Arabians. I owned two changes of clothes, a sleeping bag, a camera, and a toothbrush. One book (mine). One dirt bike. I moved into a stables. I got to talk to the horses. This is going to sound silly. But horses laugh. I slept and worked in the hay loft. The guy that owned the place was a voracious reader. I had just published a novel about two brothers. His own brother had died a year earlier. And he was having a hard time with it. I had been complaining, I could not find the room I need to write because my writing involves getting up and walking in circles and yelling at walls. I’m autistic. The horses never seemed to mind. And I had a captive audience whose opinions on things, were the same as mine. Duh. Caleb found his calling. Most folks never do. The issue of privacy alone can get complicated. To see the personal behind the door. Oh, I own one of those. I like Caleb’s socks. The leaves are not swept away on the outside deck. The towel on the oven door could be the opening of a book. I wonder who plays the guitar. Where’s the laundry. It’s the bike that really got me. I want that awesome bike.