We climb up the fire escape to the roof to bask in the sun like lizards on the black tar. The absence of walls and the expanse of blue sky and gray clouds smearing in the wind makes me a little drunk, and my heart buzzes in my chest while I stand watching tiny planes fly so high that they look like they'll never land again.
A cardinal sings in a tree behind our building, a warbling trill that ends with a "pew-pew-pew" like a laser gun in a science fiction movie, and Katie lies on a blanket, mirrored sunglasses covering her face.
A woman across the street on her roof jumps rope, and I can only see her the bouncing mop of her black hair and the rope as it loops over her again and again and again.
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