Concentric Circles

Balconies aren't given their due. Someone's ac drips and the steady drumming on the green roof that covers windows that hide their own secrets is almost black and the yellow light light up patches that are nondescript in the day. A stream of water makes its way lazily to my toe while someone's shoulders shake. It is chilly here, someone wraps a blanket around our bare legs where the mosquitos have left their mark several times in the last hour. Strange, we never noticed. Silence comforts, minds drift in different directions while someone absently hums a familiar tune. The air is colder than usual, but inside they want the ac. A stool in the most inappropriate of places seems to be the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes things consume us. Balconies always need a railing.