Rooftop terrace

Guests of the Hypertext Hotel are given a key by reception to the rooftop terrace. A small square area lined with elaborate white stone railing, the sort you might find on a Georgian house in the English countryside. During the day you can see all the way down the valley to the city in the distance. Birds rise and fall in its wide gulf, clouds teeter on the mountain edge high above, then drift down like foam. There is little light pollution here so at night, the stars shine, undisturbed. The ground on the terrace is made of terracotta tiles, cool in the evenings, but they can become very hot when the sun is at its height and you have to quickly run between sparse patches of shade. There are plenty of sunbeds, all lined up neatly along the sides. Each has a small square table and an ash-tray. On one is a key. You pick it up. It says: Room 44.

It is silent. The sun is intense. Today, you are the only one up here.


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