Begin at the tile just adjacent to the one directly parallel with the intersection that isn't at the end of the street. If you can't find it, you're close. Proceed to where the dust gathers loosely around four-to-five crickets chirping an oddly synchronised song that resembles the tune your grandmother hummed during the summer of '98.

Turn around 90 degrees, marker ahead by approximately two and a half hedgerows. Cross at green, avoiding any red or unlit intersections. Count the number of bricks in the wall if you suspect it's too quiet; humming is mandatory, if not frowned upon.

To your right there lies a bench facing the path less travelled. Take a seat but do not linger. Scribble a single digit number on the nearest tactile spot you can reach.

Return the way you came, and when you see the peculiar little stone statue that seems to stare blankly in both directions but can only do one at a time, note that this is the point where you should stop. Ask it a question when it's looking in the right direction. Absolute silence is key until you hear exactly three distinct bird notes.