Higher ground

The humble soft-porn periodical on which I toil has shifted premises from a rundown building with zero security and negligible facilities to a gleaming, unassailable, showroom-shmick office tower.

Where once I stared out my window across at others staring out theirs, now I enjoy a floor-to-ceiling vista extending from the city through the inner suburbs, past verdant patches to distant water.

For so long it felt like our mag was a skeleton in the company cloakroom, kept around only for our revenue-generating ability. Today, it's like I've just won a comp I don't remember entering.

Do I deserve this prize? I don't know, but I'm gonna appreciate the hell out of it.