Luxury, to me, has never been about abundance.
Not more things. Better things — elegant things, placed with intelligence, in spaces that breathe.
Dark tones. Clean lines. Room to think.
I watch the sun go down from my window. Slowly, the city transforms — headlights, streetlamps, lit windows. The kind of light that only exists after dark.
Later tonight there's somewhere to be. I'm already dressed — suit on, bow tie hanging loose around my neck, not yet tied. I'm waiting. For traffic to thin, or for the right hour to arrive.
The fireplace crackles behind me. When I turn, I catch the silhouette of the room in the dim light.
From somewhere inside, a soft voice rises — my partner, getting ready. "Are you ready?"
I always am.
I pick up my keys. Time to go. The glass goes on the side table for now.
I'll tie the bow tie in the elevator.
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