The way rooftops whisper cities to me

I was sketching a library scene last night and kept pausing to stare out the window. Not at the sky—just at the roofs across the street. The way they tilt, the gaps between tiles, the rust on a vent pipe like old lipstick. I’ve started noticing how every city’s rooftops have a mood: Berlin’s are sharp and tired, Tokyo’s are layered like stacked origami, and here? They’re quiet, almost embarrassed. Like they’re hiding something. I don’t know why this matters. But it does.