Photo by Adi Constantin on Unsplash


I should get off the roof before the storm comes in.

But my legs won’t work, won’t let me get up. My eyes won’t pull away from the taxi departure station below. Even though he’s already gone back north. Away from the city, the chaos, away from me.

How did he put it? This pace suits you, Ro. You’re always moving, always ready for the next best thing. But I’m tired of waiting for you to come back.

Funny isn’t it? Now I’m the one waiting, stuck, waiting for him to come back.

A minute later, I feel the first rain drop.