“Ah! A lead!” Zoey, on the other hand, has spotted a black-clad gentleman who has just put out a cigarette and seems to be disappearing around the eastern corner of the building. We follow him quietly, like we’re spies tailing our mark, but by the time we get to the corner ourselves, he seems to have disappeared into the ether.

“Now what?” I say.

“There!” Zoey points, and I see that a cellar door is closing, blending into the alleyway again as soon as it’s shut. She walks over to it and stares down at it. “But this has to be a service door . . . right?”

I look down, and see one more neon pink dot of light shining right at the center of the almost invisible door. “Er . . . no. I bet this is the entrance.” I reach down and pull the metal handle open and we are greeted by a set of slate-gray stairs that go down into a pink-lit hallway. “Normally, I would say ‘after you,’ but I’m actually not sure whether it’s chivalrous to send you down to your hipster death first.”

Zoey laughs. “You know what? I’m feeling extra brave today. I’ve got this.” She goes down the stairs and I follow her. We come to another black door and open it, relieved that we are, undoubtedly, in a hotel lobby. As long as we accept the fact that the interior designer of said hotel must have created it after an acid trip and an Escheresque fever dream.

Almost all of the furniture and décor is in shades of black, white, or gray, including the enormous chess set that apparently also serves as seating for the lobby bar. (I don’t know how comfortable it can possibly be to perch oneself atop a rook, but the girl wearing a Mister Rogers cardigan as a dress is making it look shockingly easy.) The neon pink lighting theme continues inside, where it is joined by bursts of blue and green that sporadically appear on the tiled gray wall behind the concierge desk. I’m sure it’s meant to look mysterious and cool, but it honestly reminds me of nothing so much as a sweaty rock climbing wall.

“Welcome,” murmurs a tall twenty-something dude in all black, including his tiny round sunglasses. “How may I serve you today?”

“Hotel The, right?” Zoey says, and I can tell she’s considering telling him about how ridiculously hard it was to find the place.

“It’s actually Hotel the, not The. Lowercase t.” He smiles politely.

She stares at him. “I’m speaking it. How can you tell what case I’m speaking?”

“I can tell,” he says, the smile still in place.