There is a roaster looking at him, and he's clearly looking at the roaster. I have been waiting her for a while now and it was only when I looked at the bird that my eyes met his. Even though he is not aware of my presence.

I wonder what is he doing, or why is he there. I almost feel compelled to climb up the stairs and ask him, but I'm afraid that there is no one there after all.

Why would someone get to the backdoor of the sixth floor and sit at the stairs, I do not know. Maybe he's just contemplating the roaster, as I am contemplating him. Or maybe he is drawing a portrait of the roaster, just like I am writing one about him.

There is so much silence in this place, like only we two belong to this world. It almost seems we're in a limbo, another dimension, with a very cold breeze, a greyish blue sky with no cluds our sun, and some naked unfortunate trees. And a black and white cat that has not been moving for a long time.

I mayclimb the stairs to the sixth floor. Only to confirm he's not there anymore. The bell of the church tolls, accusing me, accusing me. The reality is upon us again. And the copper roaster at the top of the church looks from above.