My New Home 9

My new home is somewhere in between these extremes.


On the left is a penthouse, with the quiet confidence of security and wealth.  I looked up one day (at Third & 13th) and there it was, sliced off some isolated bluff above the sea, helicoptered in and lowered onto the building.

On the right is a home on a loading dock.

Unlike the penthouse, I can see myself on the dock someday.  Like a lot of (most?) creative types, I'm always one thin job from the gutter, and the money I make at work translates directly into time I don't have to work.

So before I know it, it will be time to quit my own half-baked schemes and work on someone else's.  I can either do that, or be free to live on the loading dock.

You know, it doesn't look so bad, and Spring is in the air.  There's an overhang to keep out the rain (so long as it falls straight down).  The cardboard bed would save me from waking up with that diamond pattern embossed on my forehead, an Accidental Charlie Manson.  And the bible, though a hard pillow, might scare off cardboard thieves.

It has been proved over and over that delusions are all it takes to rule the world; is it too much to ask that mine shelter me?