In the shopping street where I live they're taking down the Christmas lights, which in a way makes it winter without the holiday perks. Even the weather has become a boring subject to whine about since it's been shit for such a long time now, original superlatives are running thin.
On Sunday evening me and my neighbours are asked to place next to the street the trash that doesn't fit the black bag container, and I'm not exaggerating to say that with what I saw in the 200 meters of the street behind me I looked in, that you could furnish a one-bedroom apartment with the things left to their own devices on the side walk. I gather that some people would prefer a first hand mattress, but bed bases, couches, storage boxes, tables, seats, cupboards and even a baby chair are all for the taking as we speak.
The view from my rear window seems to directly reference Hitchcock's film with that exact title. After sitting behind my computer overlooking the neighbours for weeks in a row in the process of finalizing my thesis, I have come to know many a thing about them without ever meeting in person.
I know how many people live in an apartment, what their sleeping patterns are (working, housewives, free on Wednesdays). I know when they are on holiday (bicycles on the balcony), how hight they put the heater (steam from the geyser air vent, and the amount of clothes on them). I am not sure if I should be entirely comfortable about this intimacy, if only because I know they will know me as the neighbour in his dressing gown behind his computer 24-hours a day.
Monday, 24 January 2011
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