See, in New England, a "road" is usually a paved strip of planet earth that is mostly straight, but often twisty, from which driveways and other roads emanate. In Pseudobama, a "road" is simply the extra ten feet of red dirt that sometimes occurs between houses. Oftentimes we had to stop, turn the wheel all the way to the right, gun the engine, stop, turn the wheel all the way to the left, and gun the engine to get "down the road."
The "road" ended abruptly at Number 4, a big dilapidated red house, and Number 6, another big dilapidated, but slightly different shade of red house. Number 5, where our cranky guest was heading, was nowhere to be found until I realized that the blue tool shed, no bigger than my bathroom, and no taller than me, was Number 5. She lived in the tiniest possible shack that you could pretend was a shack.
There was more to the dream, something about beer and shotguns, but I gotta head off to work.