You have a beautiful, spacious, bright home now. You live in San Francisco, and you have a couple close friends just a block away. It's 65 and sunny during the 'winter,' so you don't have to deal with any damn snow. Though if it did by some chance, you have your very own garage. Yes, a garage, and your black 1969 Mustang only takes up 1/3 of it.
Your rooms are open and have high ceilings. One of your front rooms has a wall that's floor-to-ceiling glass. Of course there are comfy chairs and puffy blankets to arrange for the perfect reading environment, not to mention the plethora of bookshelves lining the room- packed with story after story of pages of lives you've lived vicariously through. It's perfect. Everything remains clean and smelling fresh, smelling new.
