The cooking fire pit burst into flames and my hair followed suit. Someone stole from me! What was worse, I had no idea that it had happened. They managed to steal from my sanctum. My trophy room. My safe room. I was going to need help.
The needle of the gramophone scratches slightly, and the next song spills from its polished speaker. The cheerful warbling of the Fab Four pours into my large lounge, and I ease back, not needing to look at what I’m doing. I enjoy watching dust particles as they dance through the sunlight streaming through the immense windows. They twist and turn perfectly in time with every rise and fall of the Beatles’ upbeat tune.
