Three doves took three pictures of the terrace from the roof. Dove One perched in the gutter and shot towards the east. Below us are the neighbors' gardens, deserted for summer and early fall. Possibly because of mosquitoes. Even up here on the third floor we were bitten. They prefer the Frenchman who feels them the minute they land.
Dove Two, always in the middle. You can see how wide the African basil has grown in the windowboxes. And the moonflowers, well, they bloomed best while I was in Mongolia for ten day, and then Sq. Irrel discovered them. He eats the buds just as they become pointily delicious. The only escapees are the ones a little too far from the railing.
Dove Three faces west, and the empty expanse of the laundry roof.
Tick, tick, tick. The neatly parked, white vintage laundry trucks have departed. The rolling iron gates have dropped down. The daily and nightly washings of the city's restaurant linens have decamped to the company's other hub, in Queens. Demolition and enormous construction come next, but when is anyone's guess.
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