From Up Here

This place is a one-room palace - it's a heaven, it's a haven, and it's mine. All mine. It has a view of a gritty downtown (my favorite) and a comforter fluffier and whiter than my own. The complimentary conditioner? Makes my hair look good. The art on the walls? Photography, black and white. There's a menu for 'Dining'. It describes a twenty-dollar salad. I could order this salad; I'd never see the check.

So basically, I'm cool with staying here for a week. I'm cool with staying here for a year. I thought it as soon as the green light flashed and I swung the door open: business trip = ok. I'll muddle through the long days and I'll put up with the barside networking. Because for a few hours daily, whenever I can catch them, I've got the sleek-comfy, street-corner studio I've always wanted. Someone's home city crowds up beneath me, the grime so much farther than my window, the lights so much closer than the stars.