A COMFORTABLE CITY OF THE MIND

It struck me that I do not have enough rattan furniture or end tables for teacups, ashtrays, and tins of tobacco I might be smoking in my pipes. Of course I also do not have enough space to put the ideal quantities of such furniture and the things which should go on top of them, or for that matter, extensive shelving. This being San Francisco, and the majority of apartments here being more or less pokey little holes for office drooges.
So basically, I do not have enough money to live spaciously.

It's not that the modern urban world is unfair.
Merely that I perceive it as flawed.
Unfair to me.

Not nearly comfy enough.

It always surprises me that so many people wish to live here when it's far too expensive for me to have all the living space I need, which would basically be an entire building. What is wrong with them? Do they not realize that their mere existence impacts negatively?

I also would like more books. About fifteen more shelves.
Both of the bedrooms have bookshelves.
As well as the teevee room.

Naturally, a patio or terrace which catches the morning sunlight would also be nice. One might enjoy a hot caffeinated beverage there at the beginning of the day. Preferably near running water in the middle distance and frolicking badgers just beyond the field of vision.

And bobcats, to keep the raccoons and possums away.

In a further separation from reality, a coffeeshop a block or two away with no wifi, with fresh daily newspapers well worth reading, and not a shred of boba or flavoured syrup anywhere.

Both it and the nearby second hand bookstore with comfortable chairs open long past midnight, especially when it's raining, with smoking permitted inside.
Briar pipes and filterless Turkish cigarettes preferred.



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