Cars raced by; busy people going to busy places while I sat in my flat, warm and cozy with a ceramic mug of tea clasped in my cold, paint covered hands. The warm yellow light of the streetlamps flooded through the glass and illuminated my pale features and the strings from the ceiling of my small studio. that held drying paintings and clothes. The stray cat I'd deemed Rafiki meowed at me through the window; I smiled and opened the latch, letting him curl up in my lap and drift off. Through the early morning darkness I heard the cars' tires on the asphalt of the street and the songs of birds hurrying off to God knows where. It is peaceful, it is calm; this is perfect.