We'd been standing there for fifteen minutes, my friends and I.  He just sat there, with his legs dangling over the edge, not saying a word.
    The police had arrived ten minutes ago and were trying to talk him down using one of those megaphones, but there words went unanswered.
    Quite a crowd had gathered now, watching, and talking to each other in hushed tones, speculating about who he was, where he'd come from.  "Care in the Community," said one.  "A drunkard," said someone else.  "CSA strikes again," another added.
    "Come on mate," said the policeman with the megaphone.  "It can't be that bad?"
    The man on the roof continued to sit in silence, three stories up, not moving.
    A fire engine arrived, and several men got out and began removing mattresses and pads from a compartment at the back of the vehicle.  A few policemen moved to help them, as did some spectators.  Me and my friends just stood and watched.
    The policeman with the megaphone - I think he was a sergeant - handed the instrument to a younger officer, then exchanged a few words before moving away from the crowd.  I watched him as he entered the building.
    "Please, Sir," said the young officer now holding the megaphone.  "Please step away from the edge.  You wouldn't want to fall and hurt yourself now, would you?"
    Someone in the crowd laughed.
    Suddenly, the man on the roof stood up.  Several members of the crowd gasped in anticipation.  It was the first time he'd moved since I got there.
    "I'm not going to fall," said the man, calmly and clearly.  "There's no need to worry."
    "Please, move away from the edge," the young policeman said, nervously.
    The firemen quickly started to pile the mattresses and pads up along the edge of the building.  It wasn't much - quite pathetic really - but it was all that they had.  We were only a small town, and resources for instances like this were pretty scarce.
    "Come on, Sir," said the young policeman again.  "What are you hoping to achieve by staying up there?"
    "I'm trying to get home," replied the man.
    The policeman went quiet.  He wasn't sure of what to say.
    "Are you trying to catch a plane?" shouted one of the crowd.  Several people laughed.  Others tutted in disgust.  It was funny how different people behaved in these kind of situations.
    "Why don't you come down," said the policeman, finally, "and we'll see if we can arrange some transport for you, eh?"
    "You can't take me to where I want to go," the man replied.  His voice was soft and friendly.  He didn't sound depressed, or drunk, or mad.
    "Well, where do you live?" asked the policeman.
    "Up there!" the man answered, pointing skyward.  "I'm an angel."
    Someone in the crowd coughed.  One of my friends nudged me with his elbow.  I looked at him.  He made a little circular motion with his finger against his temple, indicating that the man on the roof was loopy.
    "Where are your wings?" somebody shouted.
    The man on the roof looked down at the crowd.
    "I've lost them," he said.  "They're detachable, you see.  We'd attract too much attention if we walked around in them all the time."
    "Sir," the policeman continued.  "Even if you are an angel, how is standing on the rooftop going to help you get home?"
    "Well, if I stay here for long enough," he replied, "then God will eventually look this way and see me."
    More laughs rose from the crowd.  I looked at my watch.  It was nearly one o'clock.  My lunch break was nearly over and I was going to be late getting back to work - so were my friends.
    Just then the sergeant hauled himself up onto the roof through a skylight.
    "Easy there, friend," he said, trying to stay calm as he eased his way down the tiled roof to the flat edge.  "I just want to talk.  There's no need to worry."
    "I'm not worried," said the man.  He glanced upwards.  "I'll be going home soon.  I think he's seen me."
    Most of the crowd, myself included, looked up as well, following his gaze.  There was nothing there.  Just a few grey clouds.  I don't know what we all expected to see.
    The sergeant was almost on the flat edge of the rooftop when a tile came loose.  He gave a short, fearful cry as he lost his footing and began to slide downwards, fingers clasping, trying to get a grip.  In two blinks of an eye, he went over the edge with his arms flailing in panic.
    With everyone's attention suddenly focused on the falling policeman, nobody saw the man on the roof move, but he must have been fast to have reached the sergeant as quickly as he did.
    Just as the policeman was about to disappear over the edge, the man on the roof grabbed him, catching him by the wrist.  Everyone gasped with relief.
    "It's not your time yet," said the man, speaking to the sergeant.  He pulled him up, seemingly without effort.
    "Thank you, thank you," the sergeant said gratefully.
    "Well, it's been pleasant talking to you, but I'm afraid that I really must go now," he said.  With that, he turned and started to run towards the far side of the roof.
    "No, wait!  Don't!" shouted the sergeant.  But it was too late.  The man on the roof had jumped.
    For a split second, he was falling, while the crowd looked on in horror - a woman screamed - and then he was gone... vanished without trace.
    Everyone stood in silence for what seemed like hours - in truth, it was only a few minutes.  Shortly after, the police started to disperse the crowd.
    My friends and I returned to work.  The boss gave us a bit of a roasting for being late back, but we had already agreed that we wouldn't tell him what we had witnessed.
    What could we have said, anyway?  That we'd stopped to watch an angel jump from a rooftop?  Our boss wasn't known for his sense of humour, and we'd probably have ended up looking for knew jobs.