Find a house

Tommy wandered through Oakwood Heights, the kind of neighborhood where gardeners arrived in separate vans from the housekeepers. His stomach growled as he passed by homes with three-car garages and pristine lawns. The cosmic download had adjusted his perception somewhat—he now understood his role and powers with perfect clarity.

"So I just... pick one?" he muttered, scratching his matted beard.

His eyes settled on a particularly impressive colonial-style home with large bay windows and a circular driveway. A Mercedes SUV and a Tesla were parked out front. Through one of the windows, he could see movement—someone was home.

"Fuck it," Tommy grinned, straightening his filthy jacket and running a hand through his greasy hair. "Time to test this Hospitality Examiner bullshit."

He walked up the cobblestone path to the massive front door and pressed the doorbell. A melodic chime echoed inside. Tommy's heart raced with anticipation and a small twinge of anxiety. What if this wasn't real? What if they called the cops?

The door swung open to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties with honey-blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She wore yoga pants and an expensive-looking cashmere sweater. Her expression immediately soured at the sight of Tommy—her nose wrinkled, and her body tensed as though she might slam the door shut.

"Can I help you?" she asked coldly, one hand already reaching for her phone. "We don't give handouts, but there's a shelter on Brookside Avenue."

Tommy smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth. "Actually, ma'am, I'm your guest. The Hospitality Examiner."

The woman's eyes glazed over momentarily. Tommy could almost see the cosmic understanding filtering into her consciousness. Her posture relaxed, and her expression transformed from disgust to welcome embarrassment.

"Oh! Oh my goodness, I had no idea you were coming today!" She stepped back, opening the door wider. "Please, come in! I'm Melissa Harrington. I'm so sorry about the confusion."

Tommy stepped inside, tracking mud onto the pristine marble floor. "No worries, Melissa. Surprise visits are part of the authentic examination experience."

The foyer was massive, with a crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling. A sweeping staircase led to the second floor, and Tommy could see through to an enormous open-concept kitchen and living area.

"What a fuckin' palace," he whistled, turning in a slow circle.

Melissa winced slightly at his language but quickly recovered. "Thank you! We just finished renovations last spring. My husband Brandon is the CEO of HealthTech Innovations. I... um, I wasn't expecting an examination today. The house isn't perfectly prepared."

Tommy grinned, enjoying her discomfort. "That's the point, Melissa. Real hospitality isn't about preparation—it's about how you treat unexpected guests."

She nodded earnestly. "Of course! You're absolutely right. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Perhaps something stronger?"

Tommy scratched his belly through his stained shirt. "Got any beer?"

"Absolutely! Brandon has a collection of craft IPAs in the—"

"Nah, just a regular beer. Budweiser or whatever."

"Of course! Right this way to the kitchen."

As she led him through the house, Tommy openly stared at her ass in the tight yoga pants. She was fit—clearly someone who spent hours at boutique fitness studios while housekeepers cleaned her mansion. The type who would normally cross the street if she saw Tommy coming.

*This is gonna be fun,* Tommy thought, a sick thrill running through him.

In the gleaming kitchen, Melissa retrieved a beer from a hidden refrigerator drawer and handed it to Tommy with a glass.

"Just the can is fine," he said, popping it open and taking a long swig. He belched loudly afterward, watching her try to maintain her hostess smile.

"So, Melissa," Tommy said, leaning against the expensive marble countertop, "this hospitality examination is pretty thorough. Gotta check all aspects of your hospitality."

"Of course," she nodded, clasping her hands together nervously. "Whatever you need to properly evaluate us."

*This bitch would've called the cops on me twenty minutes ago if I didn't have these powers,* Tommy thought. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"First thing—I'm fuckin' filthy," he announced, gesturing to his unwashed body. "Been sleeping under the I-95 overpass for a week. Good hosts provide cleaning facilities for their guests, right?"

Melissa's smile tightened, but she nodded immediately. "Absolutely! We have several bathrooms. The guest bathroom upstairs has a beautiful rainfall shower with six body jets."

Tommy took another swig of beer. "Lead the way."

As they climbed the stairs, Tommy deliberately stayed a few steps behind her to continue admiring her fit form. *Brandon's a lucky fucker,* he thought bitterly.

The upstairs hallway was lined with framed family photos—Melissa and a handsome man Tommy assumed was Brandon, along with their two perfect-looking children, a boy and a girl around ten and eight.

"Kids not home?" Tommy asked.

"No, they're at school until 3:30, and then they have activities until 5:00," Melissa explained, opening a door to reveal a bathroom larger than Tommy's former apartment.

"Here we are! Fresh towels are in that cabinet, and there are toiletries in the shower caddy. Take your time!"

Tommy scratched his beard again, looking at her with amusement. "You know, a truly hospitable host would help their guest get clean, especially one who's been through such hardship."

Melissa's eyes widened, and Tommy could see the internal conflict play across her face. The cosmic rules of hospitality battled against her natural revulsion.

"I... of course," she finally said, her voice tight but determined. "How can I help you?"

"Run the shower for me," Tommy instructed, beginning to unbutton his filthy jacket. "Get the temperature just right. Nothing worse than a cold shower."

Melissa moved to the large glass shower enclosure and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature with a digital panel on the wall.

As she busied herself with the shower, Tommy stripped off his jacket, shirt, and pants, standing in nothing but a pair of stained boxer shorts. He watched with satisfaction as Melissa turned and froze at the sight of his near-naked body.

"Is... is the temperature okay?" she asked, desperately trying to keep her eyes on his face.

"Dunno. You'll have to check it for me," Tommy said, scratching his hairy stomach. "Good hosts make sure everything's perfect for their guests."

Melissa hesitantly reached into the shower stream. "It's warm. I think it's ready."