Life on the roof

There appears to be a man living on the roof of the building directly opposite my hotel window. I’m on the fourth floor, and I went to open the drapes in the nude only to discover someone facing me across the narrow alleyway. He didn’t see me, and I shut them quickly, peering through the folds to try to figure out why he was there. He had a tarp of netting with a table underneath, and three yoga mats, which he was carefully folding up.

In the evening, I spied to see if he was still there, and he sat at his table with a headlamp. Reading, from the looks of it. Between that and the yoga mats, I figured we probably had a lot in common, and the whole thing made me very curious.

Perhaps he does not live there. Maybe it’s just his private getaway, his yogic man cave. I keep checking back, spying between the curtains. Sometimes, there’s nobody. Sometimes, there’s someone sleeping on the table, napping in the heat of the day. A youngish male. I’m not sure if it’s the same person, actually. ImageIMG_6308Then I see the youngish male playing a game on the table with a little girl, while an older man folds up three yoga mats. So perhaps it’s something different, a communal play area made of tarp and vines and trash, serving a family or an entire building. Up high, it is breezy, and the humidity is tolerable. The exhaust from the streets dissipates to a large extent. There are birds, and sputtering motors, and yelling children, and noise echoes muted back from the maze of Bangkok’s city walls, its decaying concrete and oozing plaster. I open my sliding balcony door loudly, and the trio, only twenty feet away from me across the narrow gap of the alley, does not notice.

One thought on “Life on the roof

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: