What does a city’s rooftops reveal about its soul?

I was walking through the old district of Lyon yesterday and kept noticing how the rooftops weren’t just tiled or slate — they were layered with history. Chimneys shaped like medieval sentinels, solar panels tucked behind crumbling parapets, a single red awning flapping on a flat roof that looked like it hadn’t seen a soul in years. I started wondering: if you could read a city’s rooftops like a book, what would they say? Not the monuments, not the streets — but the quiet, stubborn things above us. What do your cities’ roofs whisper to you?