There was a smell of wet plaster over the tenement on Sunny Street. Zosia, eleven years old, climbed onto the roof with a box and a kite. Here she liked to count the chimneys and listen to the city fall asleep. That evening it blew evenly, as if someone was breathing around the corner. Zosia unrolled the string and raised the kite above her head. A gust lifted the paper, then suddenly grew quiet, as if holding her breath. Then she heard words, quiet and clear as a whisper. - Can you hear me? - asked the wind, plucking at the buckles on the clothesline. Zosia swallowed her saliva and whispered very quietly: - I think so... - 'Ask,' murmured the wind, 'and I'll carry what you want.' So she tried it and said: - Lift this leaf now, please. The leaf obediently danced over the edge of the chimney and hovered. A tram squealed from the distance and the city blinked with lights. Across the street someone was standing on the roof of a shop. A boy in a yellow sweatshirt waved to someone below. Above him hung an old neon sign, unhooked on one hook. The metal groaned quietly, as if it was hurt by every gust. - 'I'm about to fall,' whispered the neon in letters that only the wind understood. - I won't hold it for long - wailed the wind into Zosia's ear. Zosia knelt down and drew a small spiral on the paper with chalk. Grandma said that a spiral always tames any draught. Zosia stood in the middle and took the air to its limits. - 'Wind, listen to me now,' she said, until the aerials rang. The neon jerked harder and the first bolt broke. A scream came from below and the roof door slammed and slammed. The air thickened like water and the wind growled: - Shall we start?