I dreamt I was visiting my parents, who lived in some strange mansion. It was huge and opulent in appearance, but it was designed in poor taste. I had a feeling it was poorly made, too. When I woke up, I realized it reminded me of American houses of recent vintage. All show. I remember I was walking upstairs when I heard rushing and splashing water. It was as though a large pipe had burst somewhere. These sounds were coming from behind a wall to my right. The wall was damp in places, but I could not see any running water on it. I rushed to the top of the stairs, where there was a bathroom to the right. I could hear someone was inside. When I knocked at the door, my mother opened it. In her bathrobe, she was sorting some clothing. I burst in: “Something is wrong with the water!” “Yes,” she shrugged her shoulders, “it’s really annoying.” There was no sign of running water in the bathroom, though. When I rushed out again, I bumped into my father. He looked at me vacantly as though he did not notice the rushing and splashing behind the wall. Exasperated, I spread my arms wide: “What’s going on?” Like my mother before him, he just shrugged his shoulders. I woke up when I realized they had become used to those sounds of imminent trouble in their house. Still worried, I got up to inspect my own. I went down to the cellar and up to the attic, but all was quiet. I could not go back to sleep, though.