This morning I talked to a woman down the road about her outdoor cats and she invited me into her home, a large square one with windows all around the perimeter, and I realized she was a Scientologist. Living so near to one of their compounds and in a city so densely populated by them, I have reservations about the Scientologists that are punctuated by a sort of sinister fantasy. I imagine them whispering to one another through costly metal cans behind locked doors and windows with dense curtains behind wooden shutters. I also imagine the reality is much more dull and perhaps also more sinister than I imagine.
She was very nice and looked a bit like Mariel Hemingway.