All below me, cars rumble, exhausts coughing, horns bellowing over one another, arguing to see who's the king of the city tonight.
But above the busy streets, high above every occupant of the City of Lights is where I perch, my long tangles of box blonde hair and delicate spindly legs dangling over the edge of the building in which I live. A cigarette hangs loosely between my fingers, smoke flowing from the tip like a cold breath in the dark.
It's warm, the summer air holding onto any remnants of the day's humidity as if that's all it's got left. Still, a breeze rolls by, slow, and I tuck my hair behind my ear as it brushes my face.
I bring the cigarette to my mouth and take another drag, red lipstick staining the paper, and I tip my head back to watch the smoke rise from my lips and disappear into the air.
A familiar voice speaks from somewhere behind me. "You're gonna kill yourself one of these days, hanging off the edge like that."
I sit up, turn to find him flashing a smile before