About 2:30 a.m. on the sloping, rubbery black roof of the abandoned Masonic Temple, downtown Binghamton NY. Late summer, 2010. A. laid back with his arms crossed behind his head. He was twenty one this night, had just finished his second FourLoko. He had led us up the ladder and we'd climbed in the broken second story window. He'd showed us the room with the crumbling theater where a huge chunk of concrete had fallen from the ceiling, and the room with all the electrical stuff. On our way up the stairs to the roof access, an injured pigeon burst up from a pile of dusty rubble, startling us as it took off. A. had cursed violently and kicked a glass bottle. Now he leaned back against the ridge of the roof and closed his eyes. D. motioned toward the distant hills. “You can see all the radio towers from here. When we were teenagers, me and my friends had nothing to do, we’d take Adderall and drive around all night, trying to see if we could find all of them. They’re easy to spot from this far away, but as you get closer it’s hard to know where they actually meet the ground.” . . . . I've revisited this moment again. Included here is the sketch for this piece, an older iteration from years ago and an original sketchbook page about the memory. (at Binghamton, New York)