The sun here pours onto pavement and the heads of houses like runny egg yolk. If you get up early enough, before the neighborhood begins to stir and you stand on the rooftop of my two story brick home you can see the gas station up the road. An old man and his daughter run it. I never bothered to learn their names but he saves me a pack of candy cigarettes for the walk to school every morning. If you stretch up on your tiptoes you could spot the library. Its children section is full of stuffed animals and leapfrogs. If you step forwards, leaning from the edge of the roof, you can spot the playground. There are a group of boys who played basketball every Saturday morning. They pushed me down once when I asked to play barbies on the court. I think I know some of their mothers. When you scoot along the edge of my roof you can see into the backyard of every neighbor in my vicinity. To the left, a girl I play with. We stole her mom's perfume to make a magic potion and her brother told on us once. To the right, a man who use to be kind until he married. Across was a couple with a great dane, sweeter than sugar, who I avoided at all costs. Diagonal was the doll lady and her daughter.

I can hear the first early morning runner emerging from the sidewalk. I can feel my sleeping gown heating up from the sun. I hop down, afraid of getting it too dirty, it was my favorite Justice dress. I walk back inside, wondering when morning cartoons will be on.

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