Thoughts
I am sitting on the roof, in the shade, cross-legged amidst rows of potted plants. It is hot. I handle the heat remarkably well; nevertheless, I am sweating lightly. The ground is dirty and green, spotted with algae or moss, I can never differentiate between the two. I had to reshuffle a couple of pots to make space for me, revealing the clumpy dirt that forms underneath potted plants. I pick up a piece of wooden board from a pile nearby and place it on the ground as a makeshift mat. It is not entirely uncomfortable.
The roof is yellow with the sunlight. I am just protected from it by the sliver of shade provided by the walls of the lift room. The sky overhead is bright, blue, and painful to look at. A passenger aircraft flies over my head; I can’t look at it for too long but I hear it go.
The laptop is on my lap. I am trying to rest the back of the screen against a pot for stability and I am afraid I will scratch the shiny back, or worse. Already it is caked and smudged with dirt and dust. Insects saunter about, they are characteristically tiny and segmented. I am afraid they might creep into the ports and crevices of the laptop.
The plants and their big, colorful flowers make for good company. There are dead flowers rotting beside me. A disciplined line of ants is marching towards some unseen prize. The pots are overgrown with weeds and grass and I bite down the urge to clean them with my bare hands. A tiny ant bites me; it prickles.
A refreshing breeze blows from time to time, cooling the skin, but it never stays long enough to satisfy the itch. The roof has no distinctive smell, but occasionally something unpleasant wafts up. It’s coming from the pipes, or similar. There is a bag of compost composting beside me, but even that is odorless.
I have been here for a while, tying away. I am always typing away. But now I hear people, and I have to leave.