The dainty tune of a child's music box carried on the wind which circled their top apartment, as the windows curved around the corner of the luxury doorman building. It flowed through the open windows of the bare white living room, gusting over from the soft blue lights of the Palisades and the far West Side, wrapping itself around distant highrise apartments and swaying the blue lights strung over the George Washington Bridge.
The wind came from remote points north, beyond the quiet residences of Harlem, beyond the far reaches of the New Jersey horizon, beyond the mysteries of the Upper West Side.
Restless, it invaded Penthouse Fourteen, lapping at the windows as if waves on a summer night.
Papers flew around the room, untethered.
Not unlike the tide of the ocean, rushing and receding, it whipped around the corner of Penthouse Fourteen, now rough, now gentle. The swish of traffic below was punctuated by the occasional horn honking.
The wind created an ever present hush. Though still, it ventured away from the penthouse but always returning.
0843D
(Debbie! You live in a penthouse???)
