I can grab a breeze in my office. My inflated grape wardrobe, indignant in the afternoon. I fear no predator. I mitigate the bandwidth of the parasocial cathedral by myself.
Crystalline lipid mattress, comfort for my wet flesh, smelling of the community pool. A type of transparent resin seeps from one's pores here; the effect is allegedly the fault of the moon's eye and ionized breath of the obsolete aristocracy.
Siesta calls!