There is the most delightful breeze coming in through the window. It brings a hint of jasmine and roses with it. There is a dog barking in the distance. I can hear my neighbor's wind chimes. The last of the day's light is fading, and my room is illuminated by a single lamp that is to the left and behind me. I look at the remains of the rose that has been right outside my window for the past week, its last four petals standing in defiance of time.
There are flamingos.