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Behind Windows

From my room I can see the man behind the window from naked eyes.
And his neigbours. They sometimes bicker. Usually early in the morning when decent people are still sleeping. And sometimes, you can hear porcelain splinter. And later on… holey moley.

From my room I can see the young pair behind the window. With my field glasses I can observe des affaires amoureuse. They never draw the curtains. She has a birthmark on her hip. Darkbrown as big as a nutshell. He wears underpants with tigerprint. They’re uninhibited. They know no shame.

From my room I can see the man behind the window from naked eyes. But there is not much to tell. He’s just boring. He can stare out of the window for hours. Punctual at noon he warms soup. Later on he drinks coffee. That from the morning I guess. Phua, I wished it would snow. But it’s just raining. No wonder after all it’s soon of June.

Sometimes they have company of another young couple. Late in the evening. Or on Sunday afternoon when decent people make a nap or go for a walkey or clean the car or stay in by watching television when the weather is unstable. Then they draw the curtains. My eyes begin to burn after hours by watching through the lenses of the field glasses. Once in an blue moon I can catch shadows. I eat a yoghurt.


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