Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a fortress, high, all alone, in the high rocks, with all, everything I needed, a white thick-walled tibetan sort of place curved and presenting no corners, and I would remain here, quietly enduring, from time to time receiving news of a friend or loved one passing away, but remaining here, affected to be sure, at times even weeping, but undisturbed, and with each passing perhaps a thin layer of the outer wall powders away, all my friends, all my family, who make it possible for me to have a fortress in the first place, I’ll outlive them all, naturally, so fortified.