"Let's go up to the roof," Francisco said.

I could think of a hundred reasons why I shouldn't-- Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were beautiful days of perfectly blue skies and low humidity after two punishing days of 100^ temperatures, so I'd been playing more than writing and the work had piled up. Though the line between play and work is receding more and more, it hasn't receded quite enough, and I was feeling guilty about everything that needed to be done. Friday, we'd spent the evening walking along the Hudson River, listening to live music, and finishing the night with drinks and dinner at an outdoor cafe. By Saturday, I was feeling cranky. I was behind on work, I had 100 things to do before I leave the city next weekend, it was humid again, and, worst of all, it was gray. The apartment was disorganized and so was I. Why should I go to the roof?

But why shouldn't I? I bit my tongue, the tip of which was ready to reel off all the reasons I shouldn't, and pushed back from my desk.

We walked up to the sixth floor and heaved open the unlocked door to the roof. I was struck by how quiet it was; here, in the middle of the city, three floors above where I write and eat and sleep and love, it was perfectly peaceful, the only noise the metallic sound of the train on the elevated track drifting over the tree tops. There was a completely unobstructed view of my favorite city landmark, the Queensboro Bridge. Though it's half painted, half rusted, it's the most emblematic bridge of the city for me because when I see it from a plane's window, I know I'm home again.

I walked around the roof for a few minutes and watched the sun try to push through the thicket of clouds as it set into the Hudson. I watched a bubble rise from the street to the sky, as if by magic, for there were no kids on the sidewalk below. I studied a new building rising up against the walk-up apartments of the post-war period. I thought back to a month ago, when I scanned the skyline of Havana from the top of a roof, a view most people will never see. And then I left Francisco with the neighbor kids to teach them how to use the camera and walked back down to the third floor. After all, there's work to be done.