Perched

She sat quietly, perched on her heightened throne. He saw her every time he walked to work. Every morning, there she sat, balanced on her perch. Most of the time she was smoking. Sometimes she'd be drinking coffee. Other times, she'd be listening to music, writing in a black book, or staring. He was especially interested by her staring. She was either thinking of everything or nothing at all, he couldn't decide. He didn't think she noticed him as he walked below her each day around seven o'clock. He would try to peer up at her, though only for a second because the sun rose above her building and burned his eyes if he looked too long. Perhaps she liked watching the city light up. He imagined that she enjoyed the sun on her shoulders, and the way light reflected off of adjacent windows and back into her face. Then again, maybe she didn't give a shit about the sun and she just liked to sit there. He didn't know. He didn't know anything about her. He didn't know anything about her other than the fact that he could count on her. He could count on her every morning at seven when he walked by. Every evening, when business hours were over, there she would be on her perch. He didn't know if she came down throughout the day or if she just sat and stared. He didn't know if she had a job, and if she did where it could be. He didn't even know if she lived there alone.

One thing he knew was that he was going to walk by her every day and never stop wondering if she perched because she enjoyed it, or because she was tempting her urge to jump.