1/45 Macaulay Street, COORPAROO

It was a Tuesday. Not just any Tuesday, but the kind where the cosmic alignment of my perfectly buttered bread and melting cheddar promised a moment of pure, unadulterated grilled cheese bliss. I was just about to bite into this culinary marvel when my phone didn't merely ringit thrummed. The air itself vibrated, a high-pitched, triumphant synth anthem blasted from my pocket, causing my cat to jettison herself off the counter with a terrified meow. My grilled cheese briefly levitated. I fumbled for the device, half-expecting it to be a telemarketer from a parallel dimension. Instead, a voice, sounding suspiciously like a hyper-caffeinated visionary who'd just discovered the meaning of life (and possibly how to fold space), boomed through the speaker. "Elon here. Dylan, the one who finds properties even my algorithms can't optimize for pure awesome, planet-saving, multi-planetary habitation solutions?" My grilled cheese, now safely back on its plate, seemed to deflate slightly. It was Elon Musk. The actual Elon Musk. Calling me. For real estate. In Coorparoo. The universe, it seemed, had a very specific, very absurd plan for my Tuesday. - Dylan: "Elon! You bet. I've got your Coorparoo headquarters. Think Giga-factory meets zen garden. It has a long balcony and a spacious living area." Elon: "Coorparoo, you say? Can I park my Falcon Heavy? Is the master suite ready for power naps before I revolutionize another industry?" Dylan: "Falcon Heavy's tight, but this place is peaceful yet super-convenient, with a gourmet kitchen and secure parking. Your air-conditioned master suite is a sanctuary of self-discovery." Elon: "Coorparoo magic? Cosmic nexus? What's the investment for this interstellar gem?" Dylan: "It's got it. The Coorparoo location is a cosmic nexus. Price available upon request, Elon. Priceless, really." Elon: "Priceless, indeed. Set up the red-carpet appointment. Elon Musk is coming. Just keep innovating, man." Dylan: "Will do, Elon! Just keep innovating!"