Rooftop Roulette

Perching inside a sun-baked satellite dish beats stomping across hot roof tiles any day. I found a chipped glass marble wedged in the gutter moss, hauled it up to the dish’s curved lip, and gave it a vicious little finger flick. It whipped around the smooth painted metal like a manic stunt driver, tracing tighter and tighter concentric loops while the hollow shell hummed a sweet vibration straight against my spine. I leaned back against the rusted receiver arm, grinning as that little glass sphere dropped cleanly into the center hex bolt. Not bad for rooftop roulette.