It Was Mine!

We sat outside on the rooftop and balanced empty beer cans on spinning ventilation ducts. In the distance, the skyline seemed at eye level and I was surrounded by great people- people I knew before formally knowing them. Before flesh, there were walls, trains, alleyways, sketchbooks. We laughed and moved fluently from simple, everyday conversations to the spontaneous moments of collective insight that happen when people get drunk together.
Three stories below, the streets are filled with drunk men and women, most are wearing cute little outfits and struggling to remember where they parked their cars. From the edge of the roof, you could see cop cars strategically placed throughout the area, waiting like hungry sharks at the fat people beach. Like many other nights in Northeast Minneapolis, they ate well that night.
I looked around at the rocks that blanketed the rooftop; what a test of self-control. Everything in the vicinity-- the drunk people below, the cop cars, the skinny alleyway cat stalking from shadow to shadow--everything seems like the perfect target for an excited drunk, especially ones that are entertained by spinning beer cans on ventilation ducts. At most of these rag tag rooftop parties, someone is bound to eventually give in, but surprisingly, no one did. Instead, someone came up with a safer idea- throwing the rocks at the beer cans that were somehow still spinning. A cheer erupted when the can was finally hit, head on, with a fiery crack of accuracy. Of course, everyone claimed it was their rock.