Nirvana

I feel wonderful. I have just paid my masseur the GDP of a small African country to pummel me into a mass of writhing flesh. There's a fresh espresso on my bedside table. I am entranced by the Marquez autobiography. There's a new stack of jazz CD's from a friend in Beirut. The Beast is in his basket fast asleep, tail quivering occasionally. I can see a big bar of Lindt extra dark chocolate from my vantage point. I cannot really think of anything missing in this frame. Or can I ?