It may look like a brick stock photo, but it is actually the view from my dining room window. And that is the good view. Now I am one of lucky people whose apartment happens to be on the corner of the building so I get two views. This is arguably the nice one. Although depending on your fetish, you may prefer the perspective from my living room. My big, beautiful, “charming”(read: old and falling apart) pre-war single paned trio looks right into the bathroom belonging to a woman in the next building over. I am guessing there is maybe five feet between us, so I can’t casually hand her a roll of toilet paper or anything, but it is close enough for some valuable entertainment.
Everything she does in there, I can see from the waist up. I imagine that the apartment above me has an even more fabulous vantage point.
I know a lot about this woman for being a complete stranger. I know she has a cat named Gus. I know she reads a lot of trashy paperbacks. I know she smokes cigarettes while sitting on the toilet. I know she spends every morning looking in the mirror examining her aging face. I know she lives alone.
I unwittingly and perhaps mistakenly assume she must be lonely. She spends nearly all day reading. She never has visitors. When her phone rings, she jumps into a mad dash seemingly eager to talk to someone. Every afternoon she sits on the back stoop facing the alley and stares vacantly into the distance. She looks to be in her early fifties.
I can’t help but wonder if I am looking at my future. It looks sad. But then again, maybe its not. Maybe its just peaceful.
