I have to admit… my rooftop is probably one of my favorite aspects of my apartment. Does that give me a “god complex” in some weird way? I don’t even like heights! But there is something so refreshing about being able to go outside but not having to deal with weirdos walking down the street, or without having to protect my iPhone from getting stolen… again. Or without having to put pants on.
I guess I’m sort of obsessed with my rooftop, which is strange considering I don’t go on it nearly enough. Maybe if there was furniture up there, or a little more to do than watch the laboriously slow M train whir by… But then again, the fact that there isn’t more to do up there; it’s refreshing.
It’s our little spot. No one else can get to it (aside from our next door neighbors who are a group of three 30-something men whose WiFi name is “Playboy Mansion,” but they don’t want to come on our side because their’s has a barbeque). And yet, when you see other people on neighboring rooftops nearby, it becomes sort of a culture. An elevated city of its own. You wave to each other the same way that strangers on passing boats wave to each other; unfamiliar, but kindred in some fashion.
We seem so far away from Manhattan, but we have a beautiful view of the city. I hesitate to say “especially at night,” because when the sun is setting and everything is backlit (as it is in the photo above), the vote tends to swing.
P.S. In two days, I’ll have lived here for a year. What?!