Expect these snippets to go back and forth, as it were.
The roof was a roof. It had a lot of sticky tar or something on top, pipes, and one of those box things in the middle that was really the top of a stairwell. Timmy could see a ways up here, but there was nothing to see except a pretty stupid city. Oh, and Grungy. Grungy was right there.
Grungy looked worse off than he smelled. The red and white suit he was wearing hadn’t ever been clean, Timmy knew; something like this spirit couldn’t wear anything nice and new. But it looked just like it’d been dragged through a bunch of alleyways, smeared with every yucky thing a city had, and bled on. There was a bunch of blood, too. Or something. The color was wrong; too orange, and it wasn’t thick enough, either.
Whatever it was, Grungy wanted to keep it inside him; he had ripped off long strips of grimy cloth off of a grimy sack, and was tying them around his side when Timmy came up over the lip of the fire escape. When he saw Timmy, he scrambled back, ripped up an entire hunk of roofing stuff with his hands, and raised it up…