The rays of the sun heat up the glazed balcony through stained windows and holes between them; pull of a string hanging from the ceiling releases them in file to be pulled back and feel a cozy breeze on the skin being heated by what has enabled life. There. Now, the sound of dragging a couple old plastic chairs covered in dust, traces of dried up dirty water and pillows. The ground is rough and uneven beneath bare feet.

Butt goes in one seat, legs follow suit rising towards the sky gently landing in the other. Book in hand, facing the light, placing her glasses on her bare leg she begins to read.

Even with her hair tied back in a pony tail, she can catch traces of the sweet scent it's left on her back and shoulders. So warm. It feels quiet. Everything is still safe for the occasional buzzing of some insect or another.