Yeah.

So, it's Friday night.

And I just landed in Berlin.

Or maybe it was Paris. I don't even know anymore. They all look the same when you've been awake for three days and nights.

The promoter's yelling something about the schedule, but I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes.

And my friends passed out on the couch with a bottle of tequila, hugging his chest like it's a baby.

And this girl walks in. Blonde hair, sunglasses at midnight.

She says her name is Angel, but she looks like she fell out of hell.

She goes, "Want to see the city from the rooftop?"

And I say, "Baby, I am the rooftop."

So she laughs, pulls out this little silver packet and says, "This'll keep the stars awake for us."

And yeah, I swear the light started breathing after that.

We talked about nothing for hours.

Then she asked me if I ever get tired.

I told her, "I get tired of being sober, not of being alive."

Next thing I know it's morning. I'm in the bathtub, my chain's floating, my phone's dead.

Someone's knocking on the door, probably the driver or the devil. I don't know who the fuck it is.

And I look in the mirror.

My eyes look like they've seen every place I've been.

And none of them were home.

So I just laugh, grab my jacket and say, "Baby, I am the rooftop."