Rooftops and Daydreams

"We can crawl to a rooftop and inhale the lights below and stars above as we laugh and forget the world we left on the ground"

-Victoria Erikson

I think that there is some subtle, sacred beauty in a pact made among friends. There is something so natural about the flow and ebb of improv conversation that leads to such declarations that begin with "you know, we should-".

But that's how familial history is born, and this tale is no different.

It all began with a therapy session beside the river. The moon was nearly full, exactly a day before achieving such a status, in fact. We sat on the edge of the river bank, watching the reflected moonlight sparkle on the calm river. We could just make out the silhouettes of geese swimming in the water, effortlessly combating the almost nonexistent flow of the river. It was, indeed, that calm.

So we sat, as friends do, and talked about life and all of her atrocities. We laughed, enjoyed each other's silence, and pretended the driftwood was some type of primitive bazooka.

To our right, we couldn't help but notice the casino. These types of buildings, after all, are designed to catch the eye.

So, of course, we went. It was my first time at any casino, much less this one. However, we weren't fixated on the gambling, flashing lights, or anything of that nature. We were thoroughly transfixed on the rooftop. We had easy access to the 25th floor of a building overlooking the city, so why not go? So we agreed, on that very night, to try and visit all accessible rooftops at our disposal.

All one has to do is act like they belong, which is very easy to do in casino hotels that serve all sorts of patrons. Who are they to say that we don't belong?

So a pact was born, and reinforced, at the very top of the 25th floor of the casino. We were to reach all rooftops available to us, and why wouldn't we?

Being somewhere up high, looking down to the rest of the world has a specific type of vision. A sort of enchanting quality, like, we were somehow separated from the fallacies of mundane life. For the time we spent there, we were not of that life. We were looking in, from above, everywhere, and all at once. We waned to experience this in places throughout the city.

Fast forward to a week later.

Here we are, spending an evening out on the town. Smoking hookah at a bar on The Loop in out city, when we happen to look up. We see the spherical, lit-up, artificial moon at the very top of The Moonrise Hotel. You can't help but marvel at it, as we have done dozens of times on many separate nights. When that famous line came about.

"You know, we should go up there."

"No, I think it may be closed."

Followed by luxury clown cars full of elegantly dressed women, all headed to the lobby of the hotel. It, most certainly, was not closed.

So we went, falling in line with our "we belong here" attitude. We rode the elevator to the top, much closer to the artificial moon and space-themed space. To a part of the hotel named The Twilight Room, full of fading multicolored lights, a bar, and couch seating.

All one needs is a valid ID to gain entrance to the space, granting skyline views of the city and nightlife strip below.

I'll update you on future romances with the skyline :)