We take the elevator to the highest floor, the one made completely of glass, sleeping bags rolled tightly under our coats. We’re miles above the city when the last guard leaves, and beneath our feet it looks tender, unguarded, the lights softened, our twinned gazes endless. In the dusk it’s a meadow, humming with fireflies. Our bodies tangled, limbs elaborately flung across each other, feline in their softness, their implausibility. We do not know whose hands hold which little glasses of wine, we we secreted up here with the rest of our contraband. We sip them and giggle, as lost in the boldness of us as this whole here adventure, and feeling, for a moment, infinite.
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