What makes a city’s rooftops tell you more than its streets?

I’ve been walking through old districts lately, not looking for anything in particular—just letting my eyes drift up. The way the rooftops lean, the rust on gutters, the patterns of chimneys and satellite dishes… it feels like reading a language no one speaks aloud. I keep wondering: why do we look down at pavement but rarely up at where the city breathes? What do these silent angles reveal about who lived here, how they survived, what they wanted to hide?