A city carries a very different sort of magic from the suburbs. People live right on top of each other, houses bump up against themselves in the night, and a noirish restlessness exists when light drains from the day. When you add a stormy patch of weather to all of that, you get an air of intrigue and mystery, and a night when the views from the condo windows are all the entertainment one needs.
Before Chris arrived for our weekend together, I had a night alone – which is always a welcome and favored sort of night at a time when I’m just exasperated by people. The odd irony, or immaturity, of the scenario is that as soon as I find solitude and begin to savor it, I find myself seeking out people from afar – hence a little look-see out into the world from the safe vantage point of being behind curtains and one floor above the ground.
You see all sorts of things when you take the time to look, and little glimpse into the nighttime activities of others is a voyeur’s dream. I assume that most people are like myself and if they don’t want to be seen they’ll simply draw a curtain or close a blind. It’s usually the half-closed windows that give the most tantalizing peeks of real life carrying on without thought or concern of being watched; my windows are usually half-closed.
And sometimes I forget that windows work both ways. For every moment I might be peering out, someone else might be peering in. There is something vaguely unsettling and also inspiring about that. The truth is you’ll probably definitely see more here on this blog than looking into any of my windows, no matter where I might be, or what I might not be wearing.
