At exactly 11:30 in the morning, a young man walks out to his balcony and starts doing push-ups. He looks like he’s about 22 years old. He started a month back, and couldn’t do more than 5, then. Today, he did 37 in one go. I counted.

In another apartment, at exactly 11:45, a man in a grey t-shirt will walk to his balcony and smoke a cigarette. He tugs, with closed eyes, at the smoke through the cigarette, as if he is creating something new. He will not smoke even one more throughout the day. Perhaps he’s trying to quit. I hope he is.

3 floors up, 30minutes after the man in the grey t-shirt has smoked, a woman starts pacing up and down in the 40ft long balcony of her penthouse. After lunch, she’ll bring out a toddler. The toddler will run around the cantilevered platform with the squeakiest pair of shoes and an equally squeaky voice while she waters the 30 vases of flowerless plants that line the whole railing.

Later, someone whose face I have never seen will start playing the drums from a room. Once everyday. For a full 15 minutes. They’re getting better. Sometimes they will sound a little off, and I think that they’re probably not feeling okay. Sometimes they’ve thought of new beats and I get ecstatic as well—to have heard it first. I’ve been hearing them since January. They’ve gotten so much better. I’ll tell them this someday. I’ll tell them, if ever I get to know them.