out my window

since i moved my tiny broom closet of a room around the other day my desk sits right under the window, and i love it. I can see onto the street (the street can see me) and as i work (or while away the hours on the internet) i can muse about their stories. i love doing that, i love thinking about where they're rushing to, or why they're wearing that specific jacket... call me crazy (or just with an over active imagination)

today its a very white sky. the leaves have all fallen off the trees in autumn. It's a tiny little bit chilly, the left over rain from yesterday dampens the road.

A woman clutching two big battered suitcases just walked past, her head held high and her heels clicking on the pavement. I thought, how sophisticated she looks. perhaps she is a professional wandered like holly golightly (though perhaps not in that sense) or someone without a home, drifting from place to place. She seemed to be carrying everything she owned in those two suitcases, a scarf tied around her neck in a jauntily manner.

THen there were two boys, one about 17, the other 6, holding baguetttes and laaughing. I thought, brothers? They were so cute together, joking with each other, pushing each other a little, play fighting with their baguettes. Only in paddington.

Just then a car drove past with its roof down playing 'freedom' by george michael. The driver looked young, perhaps she has jut moved out of her house? Perhaps she has left a bad boyfriend? Perhaps it was simply the song on the radio. Whatever it is, i thought how life seemed to shine out of her auburn hair.

One day maybe that'll be me walking on the road and people peering out their window making up stories, but not now. i have none to tell, not just yet anyway.
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