Before we moved into the house where I grew up, we rented a stone house at the end of a crescent-shaped road. At night, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak out onto the balcony, crack the doors, and spy on my parents in the living room below. The only thing good about living there, as far as I could tell, was that around the corner and down the road was a field, and in the field lived a horse.