PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Con loved the roof. His building was near the city center, standing several stories high.
It was his refuge. Quiet, delightfully desolate. All the noise and chaos below didn’t touch him.
He took his guitar that day. Needed some music
To his complete surprise, his chair was not empty when he closed the door to the stairway and turned around. A gorgeous vision sat there. He blinked, thinking he was hallucinating.
She blinked, fearing she had crossed a line.
“Hi,” he grinned. I’m Con. Who’re you?”
“Welcome to my roof, Selma. You live here?”