It is a surpisingly racy feeling, to look, late at night, into other people's windows. watching them stand in their kitchen or living room, sleeves rolled up. They are aware, I suppose, but do not focus on it. It is astonishing how much we put ourselves on display, hoping to be held gently by those who view us. Man seeks reassurance, acceptance by his peers; seeks to find a hand to hold in the sucking black.
Seeing past the curtains, through the warbled glass, into the warmth, the mellow pool of heat, feels like tearing through the skin of an orange, sinking my eyeteeth into the pulpy treasure.