She danced on the rooftop of the boring brown apartment building in her long gypsy skirts and flowing tops. Her bare feet spun and steeped, her legs flowed in strong motions, her arms twisting upward in the same way smoke does.

The stars danced with her and the moon sang the music to which she danced, a melody pure and sweet yet dark and thick.

She danced until she fell against the rough roof, exhausted and covered in sweat.

She danced so he might see her from his seventh story window. She wanted him to approve of her, like her, or at least notice. She cried as she danced, not because he never saw, but because she even wanted him to notice.