For a spot six stories above the street, the roof should sport some amazing scenery.
You should be able to see the entire cityscape
sprawling as far as there is land to cover,
uneven with roofs practically begging for a high paced action scene.
Instead, the smog of a modern city
joins with the fog of a tropical land
and dust rising up from miles of unpaved roads,
so all you can see is haze.
No, what stays with you is the noise.
The noise of nearly three million people going about their day.
The honking of cars,
the hawking of street vendors,
the rocking of a cargo train chugging along a nearby railroad,
Their faint voices echo through the haze.
It is this cacophony of the commonplace,
this music of the mundane,
that brings you to the roof.
Not the view.