Sometimes, in the nighttime, the lit cigarette butts float down like glowing fireflies. In the daytime, they look like this. They all come from inconsiderate buttheads-who-throw-stuff-off-the-roof-onto-our-terrace.
Also, lit cigarettes hurt when they hit you in the face as they fall. And they leave scorch marks on patio furniture. And yes, Virginia, they once landed on, and lit our patio cushion on fire. Again, my middle finger salutes you.
I once proposed to building management that they raise the glass wall up on the roof to six feet (from the measly 6 inches—a 6 inch wall is decorative, folks, a mere suggestion). The then-building-manager started chuckling. He said he was imagining drunk smokers flicking cigarettes and then having said cigarette rebound into their face.
That’s the plan, Smithers. That’s the plan!
I also told the former building manager that the wall was so low, anyone could throw themselves off the roof, and that I did not want to find a dead body on our terrace. He started laughing. “Ohyah, that body is going to totally land on your terrace. It won’t even clear the building and make it to the street. Totally on your terrace.”
My former building manager used to be a cop.