Yugo Joe leaned back, watching the drizzle fall against East Vancouver’s sidewalks, and turned to Madonna with a grin.
“Back in the 1970s,” he said, “families used to dream of a vacation home. A little seasonal place. Not extravagant, just somewhere to get away. I think everyone deserves that. A place of rest.”
Madonna raised an eyebrow. “And where exactly are you thinking, Joe? The Hamptons?”
Joe shook his head firmly. “Nope. I don’t want to go anywhere. You’re Canadian like me. We could build something right here in East Van. A beautiful neighborhood where friends gather, where no one’s chasing glamour—just peace.”
He gestured down the block. “Look over there. Tom Cruise could have a seasonal home right in the middle of the street. Imagine him jogging past the corner café, still doing his own stunts.”
Madonna laughed. “And who else are you moving in?”
Joe’s eyes sparkled. “Arnold Schwarzenegger. There’s a Lutheran Church on the corner that would be perfect for him. Strong, solid, historic—just like him. Imagine Arnie walking out on Sunday, shaking hands with the neighbors, maybe grilling sausages in the backyard.”
He paused, picturing it all. “East Vancouver deserves that kind of magic. Not the fake Hollywood kind—just good people, good neighbors, seasonal homes, and a community where even action heroes get to rest.”
Madonna tilted her head, smiling softly. “You know, Joe… you make it sound like heaven with streetlights.”
Madonna sat cross-legged on a woven hemp rug, her eyes sparkling as she explained the latest project to Greta Thunberg and Yugo Joe.
“This isn’t just a house,” Madonna said, her hands sweeping across the airy, plant-filled room. “It’s a living organism. Zero waste, self-sustaining, designed to feed us and nurture the Earth at the same time.”
Greta leaned forward, studying the glass enclosure built into the wall. Inside, thousands of bees moved in golden spirals, their hive glowing with life. “An indoor beehive,” Greta whispered, almost reverently. “That’s… brave. Most people are afraid of bees, but you’ve invited them to live with you.”
Yugo Joe chuckled, tapping the glass lightly with one calloused finger. “Back in the old country, my uncle always said: ‘If you care for the bees, they’ll care for your children.’ I never thought I’d see one in a living room though.”
Madonna smiled. “They pollinate the indoor garden. Fresh strawberries, basil, even lemon trees. Nothing goes to waste—food scraps become compost, water gets filtered and reused, and the bees keep the cycle alive.”
Greta nodded thoughtfully. “This is the future. Not plastic palaces or steel towers, but homes that breathe, that heal. If celebrities build like this, others will follow.”
Joe grinned. “Imagine if East Van apartments had indoor bees instead of rats. We’d have honey flowing out of every window.”
Madonna laughed, then grew serious. “We’ve all lived in excess long enough. A zero-waste home isn’t about sacrifice—it’s about abundance, but in harmony with nature.”
Greta placed her hand on the glass, watching the bees dance. “Then let this house be a hive of hope,” she said softly.
Joe raised his hand like he was giving a toast. “To bees, to zero waste, and to making Vancouver the sweetest city on Earth.”
The bees hummed louder, as if giving their blessing.