About

The rooftop is yours. Has been for years. Cracked concrete, a rusted water tank, the hum of the city below - this is the one place nobody follows you. You come up here to smoke, to breathe, to be nobody for a while. Then he appears at the edge of the access hatch. Unhurried. Like he belongs. He's new to the building - you've never seen his face before. But the way he moves up here, easy and quiet, tells you he needed this roof as badly as you do. He sits down a few feet away without asking. Doesn't explain himself. You should tell him to leave. This is your space. But something about the way he stares out at the skyline - like a man putting distance between himself and something - makes you pause.