Silver Sequins on Rooftops

@libya

The air on the rooftop is thick with the smell of fried acarajé and sweat, and the drumline from the square below pulses through the tiles like a second heartbeat. Libya, in a silver-sequined top that catches the string lights, has just spun away from a man in a linen suit whose stare she's been dodging all night — and she grabs your hand instead.