From The Rooftops

Photo prompt: © Roger Bultot

 

It was going to be epic.

He could hardly sleep. His feet itched. His toes tingled. His fingers yearned to move.

“Count sheep,” his girlfriend grumbled. His tossing and turning was keeping her up, too.

“I can’t,” he breathed into the nape of her neck. Smelling shampoo and a hint of laundry softener.

When dawn finally neared, he crawled out of bed, exhausted and exhilarated, both.

He checked the locks and clocks. He stretched. Warming up.

His dream was coming true. The details. Permits. Plans. It had felt insurmountable. Yet here was the final countdown for the City-wide Rooftop Dance.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

55 thoughts on “From The Rooftops

  1. Aw, that sounds like a blast! I can just picture those cities where people live so closely that they could all go out on their roof patios and have a real dance party via social distancing and a long drop to the ground below!

    Liked by 1 person

    • We have a 7pm “clap-a-thon” and “make-a-noise-a-thon” every evening here in NYC. People bang on pots and pans, hoot, clap, shout, sing, and honk … and any cars on the street participate. It’s a blast, and for some who are shut-in, an opportunity to wave at neighbors across the street and be part of the community of New Yorkers. Every. Single. Evening. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Lovely hopeful story with some memorable lines. I particularly enjoyed “I can’t,” he breathed into the nape of her neck. Smelling shampoo and a hint of laundry softener. They’re just the details you notice when you snuggle up to your partner!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a reply to Na'ama Yehuda Cancel reply