I thought of the last time I felt pain.

It happened before I stuck myself into a 27th floor apartment on top of the downtown

Whole Foods

. I remember when I came in, telling myself I wouldn't leave until I felt better. And I haven't left since.

Inside this tower I have everything I need. There's an indoor gym: treadmills, elipticals, stairmasters, weight benches and squat racks, each of them with 6 45 pound weight plates. From my pad I have enough window coverage to get more than enough vitamin D without stepping outside. And of course, for all my calories, vitamins, minerals, and other micronutrients the Whole Foods on the first floor has multiple trucks a day bringing in fresh produce, animal flesh, and specialty products. They bring in all this from less fortunate places I assume. Rural farms and foreign countries where water is scarce. The residents in this apartment tower have a dedicated elevator that allows them to go down directly into the Whole Foods. 

I have a pretty good kitchen, but I never use it. For the past year now I've eaten nothing but the ready-made foods at the Whole Foods hotbar. It's much better than anything I could cook, though it costs a hefty amount though. I eat twice a day and it costs me about 27 bucks each time.

But these are big meals. And I usually pair them with a 

kombucha

. Most times, I'll make my own coffee upstairs. Sometimes I'll fill a cup with homemade 

coffee

and take it downstairs to sip while people watching.

There's security guards downstairs. Usually a larger black men. They always made me feel safe. I still imagined some skinny white guy coming in here with a gun and shooting up the place though. 

I spent over 365 days now, sitting here in the cafe, giving the same head nods to different security guards. Sometimes when they gave me the nod I wondered if they knew why I was here. Why I was hiding in this tower. 

Recently I've been beginning to imagine that they do. Nobody from my old life knew, and I wouldn't want them to, but imagining these random strangers knowing filled me with a sense of ease. 

I thought of the last time I felt pain. In a way I missed it.