I followed; as I broke out of the crowd the door swung shut. Down the hall I was directed to the roof, where the air was still. ‘Where is she?’ I called out; above, the sky was a black dome with a single pinprick instead of stars.
‘There’s been no one out here all night,’ said a man in a bird mask, standing next to two women by the edge. In their hands they held cigarettes and glasses of red liquid.
What kind of place is this? Is there is a world below the roof’s edge, or are these feathered few all that’s left?
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