Two furry rugs, with softly beating hearts, drape Asian-style couch and chair. It is local-standard catnap time here and beams of muted sunlight, dissected by vertical blinds, stick to the floor in long rectangles.
I feel a cool breeze flowing jet stream like, except north to south. Its low-latitude airstream forms contrasting weather fronts of electrostatic titillation on my warm tingly skin.
If very small people lived on my body they’d be dodging lightning bolts and trying to smooth down their out-of-control big hair.
This means the sliding glass doors at the back and front of my apartment are fulfilling their mechanical manifesto: Allow the outside and the inside worlds to meet.