A male voice slices across the skyline.
Andrew turns to look behind him.
“The fuck—he talkin’ to me?”
“WHO ELSE, BRO?”
Across the street, a guy in a bathrobe—cigarette in one hand, coffee mug in the other, pants nowhere to be found—hangs off his fire escape rail.
“You been up there five hours and still ain’t closed the deal?Even my fuckin' cat got laid this week. What’re you doin’?”
I choke on a laugh.
Andrew squints at the building next to us,
breath fogging.
“What the hell…” his voice dies away.
Then ressurects,
“…yo, is this real life right now?”
“We had money on this ending three hours ago!”another voice calls out.
Next rooftop over,
there's a psycho with binoculars,
posted up and spying, not even hiding it.
“Can ya move three feet to the left?
“The pole is blocking the view.”
My eyes go wide. “He’s watching us?”
“Twenty bucks says he’s done for.”
“Twenty bucks says she’s thinkin’ about her ex right now.”
Andrew’s brows shoot up. “Her fuckin’ ex—aye,I brought fuckin’ fruit, aight?”
“Bro, she showed up inthatdress and you broughtgrapes?”
“They were organic,” Andrew mutters.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,”another voice barks—female, older, Bronx.“Stop acting like a pussy and just stick it in one already!”
I glance over at Andrew,
unable to wipe off my smile.
He rolls his eyes,
a grin breaking through anyway.
“Son, make a move or she's jumpin' just to feel somethin’.”
