The young man sat on the roof of his apartment block, looking towards the city. He’d started going up there as soon as he moved in, though why he was drawn there I cannot tell you. Perhaps growing up in the suburbs was enough of the natural world for him, and he knew his future lay in the tamed steel and concrete of the city. Or perhaps he thought about home and wished that he didn’t have to live here.

I often wonder what it is he thinks about up there. He must be looking at the city, or he would occasional vary his position, but why? I like to think that he’s a philosopher, using the city as an image for mankind’s drive to create, to harness nature and make his mark on the world. Maybe he thinks about the men responsible for such monoliths, and what they are thinking when they decide to build them.

Every day he comes down just after sunset, and when he walks back into our apartment I ask if he saw her today. He swears that the day he sees her again he’ll run down the stairs and go and speak to her.