There was a man on the snowy roof across Houston Street from where I work this morning. I saw him scampering away from the edge with something in his hand, a rectangular object, like a folded-up newspaper, but not a folded-up newspaper.

Of course I imagined him falling off. It was just a story up, behind a big sign for the bar down below, the bar where we always went for company events. But if he fell surely he’d break a leg, break his neck. I’d gasp in horror and my coworkers would scramble to the window to see. Everyone wants to see someone writhing in pain on the sidewalk for one reason or another.

But he made it across the roof and onto another and into a door and down a roof hatch. To warmth and safety.