Many moons ago, in a local coffee shop, a man drew a picture of me. It was quickly drawn in pencil and froze me in a specific moment in time. I hadn’t noticed that he was paying any amount of attention to me, and I was surprised when he walked up, placed the paper on the edge of my table, and walked away.
I remember looking at the paper, looking up at the man, wanting to say something, but he kept walking out the door. I sat there looking at this picture of me through someone else’s eyes. I slipped the picture in my bag and kept it for many years. I think it might be in a box of old memories in my basement.
I thought of that picture today as I sat on the 10th floor in my hotel room, looking down at the rooftops around me. I watched as they climbed the fire escape steps, walked across the roof, laid out a white sheet, and placed their drawing materials around them. I sit here now and am captivated by their actions up there on their roof.
Life is weird. Here I am in a city with a million people, watching this person on a roof, and they have no idea I’m watching down on them.
