To Go With the Pants

OK,  further to my post about the "Palazzo Pants"...... What about somewhere to hang

out in while wearing them?  Sometimes I have a fantasy of running away to live in a place like this.

To live on a top floor with windows always wide open.  Lots of loud music, latin or opera.  To smoke skinny cigars and wear floppy caftans.  Or bandana halter dresses and big gold ear hoops.  To write short stories of somewhat shocking tenor. To have a "salon"with odd people dropping by at odd hours.

Offering illicit substances, and exotic sweetmeats.  And none of us ever much desirous to leave the premises again...........

Have YOU ever actually lived such a life?  Me, no.  I was brought up to be a nice Chinese girl with sensible habits.  

I DID actually live in a very similar place once, architecturally.  But it was BROWN.  In a cold climate, where the driveway would accumulate ice in its ruts, and men with pickup trucks and cowboy hats would get stuck in them, and end up on the stairs.  The brown house had a sleeping balcony at the front.  And the front entry smelled like Grandma's house or more especially, like pancakes on a griddle.  At all hours of the day and night.

A previous tenant had left a tin of "Petit Beurre" cookies in a kitchen drawer.  With no cookies in it.

It was not quite this kind of place......

Not quite.  The Palazzo in Paradise.   For the strivers and divers.  And the people in the flow-ey pants.

(Oh yes I would sometimes, like to run away.  Would you?)