No one knew I was here. The elevator brought me to the 19th floor. My penchant for the number 9 told me this would be somewhat magical, lucky at least.

"Right this way ma'am," he motioned with his white linen sleeved arm.

I turned the industrial-style latch and opened the door to light, flooding light, as in a cliche from a dark hallway.

I listened to the elegant sound of my heels on the concrete- the sound felt elegant now as I made my way towards the window, which was the entire length of the place. At this height, who needed privacy? Perhaps from Spiderman? But he probably couldn't afford these prices.

"This is new construction and we are still in the process of finishing the kitchen in this one so please excuse the slight disarray," who would care, I thought. Who could notice the dusty footprint with the entire city sprawled out in front of me, like a time line, in a three quarter view ending on the water.

I would have this one day. No one knew I was here. Not even my man.

I stalled, asked questions I half knew the answers to, anything to buy myself more time in this high-rise paradise so that I could begin to see the hot ball Miami sun stain the edges of metal sky scrapers Blood Orange, watch the sky turn Pink, picture myself in my clear Louis Ghost chair, wearing nothing but my Pink Glitter Louboutins, waving hello to Spidy as he started his evening shift. But of course, this was in my head. And no one knew I really lived here.