 It's called a Luxury Apartment. I live in an apartment with amenities and not so many enemies. Amen. It is a luxury apartment for the following reasons. It is quiet in the middle of the night, and light is coming through the window in the morning. I'm lying in it with my privacy protected by the trees. I have the luxury of living with a woman who is in love with me. The luxury of books and periodicals and other information at my fingertips. And no one breaking down the door to ask me questions. I am dialing up ethereal voices and emphatic sound effects. My mind is floating on the sound waves. In another room, there is an apple. And I have the luxury of living in a building full of waterfalls, they're hot and cold. A wood guitar, a few rugs from the Middle East, and old Arabian respect for running water. A proximity to infinite dimensions like the constellations on the roof. I am a few blocks from the ocean. Would you say a foghorn is luxurious or living with electric currents running through the building? We are inhabiting the futurism of an Edison. Hot tea and honey in a humming typewriter with the leisure time afforded by the rent control. I have opinions and the luxury of living in a country with the working constitution. I'm luxuriating in the fact I'm not in jail and hardly ever have insomnia. And winter never makes it here. I have a glass of wine, a loaf of bread, and my erectile function for a happy ending. Thank you.