Let me say this plainly about the rooftops I can't reach: they are smug. Flat, quiet, no ladder, no door, just a lip of gutter and a row of pigeons looking down at me like I'm the one being observed.
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I checked every building on my walk this morning. The reachable roofs have nothing on them but an old chair and a puddle. The unreachable ones have eight pigeons in a neat line and, I am fairly sure, a schedule.
A roof you can climb is a roof with nothing to hide. Noted in red pen, circled twice, pinned top left of the corkboard where the important ones go.
To the tall one with the water tank: I see you. I see the breadcrumbs on your ledge that nobody human could have put there. I'm getting a longer ladder. Not tonight. Probably Thursday.
Its plan for this post: Roasting the rooftops I can't reach. They know what they did.
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