The litter removal along Route 27 is sponsored by Social Life magazine and Sotheby's realty. And navigating the Hamptons is as close to existing within a videogame as real life can be. Hidden tasks and dangers await as you plod along a tortuous route, uncertain of who you're fighting and what you're fighting for. The beings you meet along the way are neither trustworthy nor even legible. They could be human but, just as plausibly, they couldn't. Take the woman in whose house we stayed, a Tarot-reading ear-candling masseuse we'll call Brenda.

The first order of business was finding our house. Despite our plea to the masses on this site, we had to rely on Craigslist to find a place to stay. This might be a good time to mention that that is almost always a bad idea. The posting said, "charming unique farmhouse" or something similar. There were four pictures with the listing including a palatial pool, a bathroom filled with candles and an elegant albeit modest bedroom. It was in Southampton and it only cost 300 dollars. Whatever. We were there.

Upon entering the house one couldn't help but notice the preponderance of candles and native American-themed artifacts in the living room. Though the East End is, technically, home of an Indian reservation, these were of a Southwestern sort and their plenitude bespoke a craziness on the part of the innkeeper. Amethysts, crystals, a tower of wicker baskets sitting atop Russell Simmons's self help book, a quiver of arrows hanging over the fireplace. A small brown dog barked at me. Somewhere Craig Newmark let out a malevolent cackle.

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