Life on bottom, myself thrice a rent slave, once in the cellar; who would have thought there to be an edge so keen as the one which separates a shared house? House mates. Such proximity, such exclusion. So well I remember standing at the door, hand on knob, only to helplessly go forth, out of the aural, into sight.

By electing an intercultural situation, though, you cannily defuse the whole “likes finding likes” equation Smart. Contrary. Difficult. But doubtless stimulating.