They lay, heads next to each other, feet apart, on the grimy pavement of the parking lot atop the hill. A dormant crane’s neck points straight up into the sky nearby. It’s dark. They pass the taut line to a kite which sails high above them, invisible beyond the gray night clouds, back and forth. The string vibrates in the wind, whistling. They share a cigarette she had rolled, its embers crisscrossing the string during the switches. I wonder if she likes me as much as I like her, he thinks. She lifts a knee bared by a hole in her jeans. They trade cig for string, hands touching in the air. I’ll never feel as free or unencumbered as this kite does right now, she thinks.