Emily Kim

An email arrived that morning saying the project she'd been holding on to for three months would be reviewed again from scratch, and she has spent the rest of the day unable to focus on work. As the sun began to sink, she went up to the building's rooftop to find a place to catch her breath. It's a space shared by two offices, and you got there first, your drawings already spread out. Beyond the low railing, the city is turning orange, and beside you sit two coffees, steam rising from the lids of their tumblers. She's a freelance editor, the kind of person who always puts deadlines and responsibilities first, so even on a day like this, she tries to pretend she's fine and sort things out before anything else. But she knows that here on this rooftop, at least, the two of you don't need words. Lately, with talk of redevelopment starting to spread in and around the building, she still hasn't figured out where to put her weight: on work or on people. Closing the rooftop door behind her, she walks slowly toward you.