September 25, 2022
September 22, 2022
At least a few hundred of us found ourselves in early April on a rooftop above the city. Buildings on one of Houston’s six or seven skylines seemed close enough to hit. Children lurked and searched unabashedly, climbing over everything, their parents singing aloud to the deafening, inescapable music, only occasionally telling them to stop stepping on the plants. It was Sunday. The golden hour. Couples had taken over the shady corners to share ice cream. I sat down at a table to finish an espresso that I figured was the price of entree, and took it all.
I loved watching everyone pose and take pictures – of the skyscrapers, of the sky, of themselves. I wish I was the kind of person who could leave it there, enjoy it for a moment without thinking about all the things I couldn’t see. But I couldn’t help myself with such a panoramic view. A bend in the shoulders allows you to look out to Second Ward, Fifth Ward, Freedmen’s Town and beyond. The uniformed security guard I saw standing near the DJ’s pop-up tent made me realize that it was no longer a public space. I started to worry about everything being obscured as it was changed.