There's a Mexican on my roof!

I wake up to a loud noise. Could be footsteps on the roof. Or maybe the new tenants downstairs unloading boxes. I look at the clock, it's 3AM. Probably not the tenants. I hear a crack give in the ceiling. Maybe it's the neighbors across smoking pot on the roof. Who knows.

I go to the other bedroom, where the window opens up to the fire escape landing, to see if it's the neighbors. Their window's closed. I listen. Nothing. Then I see a pair of sneakers coming down the fire escape ladder.

"Hey, who are you?"

The sneakers scamper up the ladder.

Without hesitation, I yank off the window screen and give chase. At the top, it's completely dark. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust. Then I see a silhouette of a dude, lying face down on the very corner of the apartment building—three floors up—trying to hide in the shadows.

"What the fuck are you doing up here?"

He gets up, walks towards me slowly and apologizes profusely. "I'm sorry, I have no where to go. Please let me leave. I'm very sorry."

I look at his face. He's a hispanic guy, maybe 5'7" or so, dressed in a baggy grey sweatshirt and faded baggy black jeans. Short hair, slicked back. Round face with a neatly trimmed goatee.

"Leave. Go back the way you came and get the fuck out of here. Don't ever come back."

He mumbles out a few apologies. I quickly get back into my apartment and slam the window behind me.

Did that just happen?

I grab the phone. Dial 911. Looking for my keys. What should I do? The dispatcher picks up. I tell the tell her what happened and give a description. She says she's sending a patrol car over over.

A few moments pass. I slip on my shoes and go downstairs to check if the other tenants are OK. By the time I get downstairs, I can see the squad car pull up from behind the frosted glass on the garage door. I open it up and let them in.

They do a quick inspection and check out the roof. My first thought was that the dude must've come in from the backyard, which opens directly into my garage, and has access to the fire escape. But while the cops survey the roof with their Maglites, one of the cops finds a three-foot gap on the second floor landing that leads directly to the roof next door. He climbs down the fire escape, hops over, and takes a look. I hear the other cop who's still on my roof, "Be careful. It makes my stomach sick watching you down there."

Nothing. The dude is long gone.

As I'm showing the cops out of my apartment, they say that since I confronted the guy, chances are he's not gonna come back. I realize the cop talking to me is a lot younger than me. His partner looks like a buff Kendra Wilkinson. Pretty hot.

They leave my apartment. I follow behind them and tell them good night as I close the garage door.

When I get back to my apartment, I'm shaking. That guy could've had a knife. There could've been other dudes downstairs unloading stuff. Who knows. I knew that if something happened to me and I yelled out the window by the fire escape, most of my tenants would hear me since their bedrooms are right next to the fire escape. But when I saw those sneakers panic and shoot up the ladder, I threw all caution out the window. My instant reaction was to chase.

I get on my computer. Play some Starcraft. Lie in bed. Play some Words with Friends on my iPhone. By the time my eyes start closing, it's already 5AM. I write on twitter "WTF, I found a Mexican on my roof!" I think to myself that sounds kinda racist. Who knows, maybe he was from Guatemala. Or Honduras. To my one half-Mexican friend on Twitter, "@chrisalverez I hope it wasn't one of your homies trying to steal my flatscreen TV!"

I pass out.

God, what a night.