Marooned in Brooklyn. Red dust, red Planet, red Brooklyn. Unlike God Mars I am powerless to lift my Earthly carcass off the dirty ground of a heartless place and soar into the sky of freedom. Burdensome issues of individual rights and moral imperatives fetter my already bound limbs. There is a current of fear in the world. This is why I think I want to name our new house: Serenity. A safe haven for poets, and artists, and for those who live the word Possibility.
Who would choose this?