She saw them every night, in hues of fuchsia and lavender, dancing away on the rooftops, above the streetlights. She heard the swinging music of the saxophones, the gay laughter, saw the wispy silhouettes of their skirt twirling atop the dark tiles. She had stopped asking if anyone saw them - judging by the looks she received, their existence was absent to all except to her. Every night she would hear the echoes of their parties, bubbling from dusk, and fading away by dawn. And she wondered why this show of ghostly festivities was saved just for her.
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