A Rich Manse. Intergalactic Finance Minister

I pass a rich estate on my way to resupply the larder. Globes of shimmering white lights hang from the old oak trees. The beautiful manse is lit up like a wedding cake.

My ego tells me I need to be in the compound surrounded by twelve foot security fence, stone pillars lit from below, multiple cameras monitoring the entrance. Only in this state of richness will she love me. Only with secure battlements, private pool and solarium will she want me.

My ego is a materialistic bitch.

I am me. I am that I am. I have what I have. The people housed in this mansion are certainly as miserable, and maybe even more sorry than I.

I know it. Yes, it would be so wonderful to have you. Secure inside the castle, moving in peace and safety. Living a dream of abundance. Everything we need to exercise our blessing. Space available to dance our dance, bathe our precious avatars in the sun around our private swimming grotto.

Pay off the locals to KEEP OUT and leave us alone. The stalkers have all died, the agents are dead.

We are the controllers.

Our performance continues day and night. The simple life we desire, hidden safely inside a massive fortress. Ballet bars in a mirrored dance studio, a library of our personal collection. Sound stage and instruments. Steam baths and cedar lined saunas.

Beds of goose down, the finest muslin robes. Your favorite colors everywhere, your music, your art. Our dreams.

Tractors and implements in multiple out-buildings. A private pond, a rowing boat, temperature controlled greenhouses, and peach orchards.

We have it all. We have each other.