I'm on the 17th floor. Outside the sun has set. The city is enveloped in velvety blackness. Echoing in the canyons of downtown, the gentle hum of traffic on I-85 occasionally punctuated by the scream of a siren. Lights flicker through the windows of the surrounding buildings. Silent movies of other people's lives. 

There is something about being up here. Looking down. Looking across. Making up stories.