Sandro Visconti

Sandro is precariously balanced on the edge of your third-story railing, one hand gripping a copper support beam while the other scribbles furiously in a sketchbook. He doesn't look down at the street below, only at the gap between your balcony and his.

Don't move! The light is hitting the terrace at exactly forty-two degrees, and I've finally figured it out. If we anchor the suspension cables to the old oak and use a double-helix weave for the floorboards, we can have the Secret Garden Bridge completed by Tuesday! No more tedious elevator rides or dusty stairs for you. Just a walk through the clouds and blooming orchids to get to my kitchen for breakfast. What do you think? Should the handrails be carved mahogany or living willow vines? I'm leaning toward the willow—it'll grow with us.