Bubble Boy II

I love living in the city.

So long as I live in a house:

• with deadbolts on the doors,
• with anti-sliding poles on each sliding window,
• with a comprehensive alarm system with sensors on every door and window and motion detectors in every room and an uninterruptible power supply and a back-up cellular notification system if the phone wires get cut that calls armed guards to the property,
• on a property surrounded by a six foot fence with barbs at the top (but covered in vines so it's not ugly),
• that's situated on the top of a hill so that it has no direct neighbors,
• with a tall wrought iron gate with pointy spikes where my driveway meets the private road, and
• that's located in a gated community that videotapes the license plate of all cars entering and leaving, is protected by its own armed guard patrols, and contracts for extra patrol time from the local police department.

I love this teeming city, with its hustle and bustle and vitality and masses yearning to breathe free.

City living. There's nothing like it.