I move to a new city

I move to a new city, but cannot find the address of the room I have rented. A local directs me to the opposite side of the street (the numbering on the buildings is intermittent, at best), but the room is nothing like what I had been told. I settle in, unhappy. Eventually, I meet the person who has moved into what sounds like the room I had intended to rent. They are very fleeting and don’t enter into any serious conversation, and I never get a chance to see them go into or out of the apartment: they are always on their way to somewhere else, having just left. They tell me which door to enter, but I cannot see it. I doubt it exists. I doubt this person is truthful.

In this city there is a cathedral, but there should not be one. Its construction was the result of an administrative error, some government employee somewhere filing a yellow form with blue ink instead of a blue form with black ink. But at some point along the process enough bureaucratic momentum had amassed that nobody dared to question it. More funding than initially planned was poured into the furnishing of the accidental cathedral, likely as a way to compensate for its unwanted birth.