I sat next to a 落地窗 today. I don’t know what you call it in English, but it is those gigantic windows that stretches from the ceiling to the floor.
I sat on a chair, behind the desk, next to the window,
And I looked out.
On to a relatively quiet street.
I know because I’ve walked by a few times, myself.
I know because I looked up from in between my notes, looked out onto the street.
It was a rather wide street, certainly comfortable enough for cars to pass on both sides, even with a car parked at the side.
It had a rather wide pavement as well, although mostly, it was one person abreast.
The street was marked by an absence of traffic. Vehicles were the exception, not the norm.
The street saw its fair share of pedestrians, of all shapes and sizes, pattern and age.
One man walked by, from left to right, hurriedly. When I looked up again, I saw him walking by once more, this time from right to left. Going home or going somewhere else? How many more times will he traverse this passageway?
One golden-haired creature had his face placed closed to the railings that was one of the barriers separating me and the street. His wide eyes glancing towards the heavens. Did he notice me? Sitting there by the window, watching him? I doubt his keeper saw the same thing he did, so busy was he watching out for the young one.
Did I detect an increase in movement between 12 and 2? Or was it purely part of my imagination, my wish for it to be true?
Is this what Benjamin Walter felt? Or Charles Baudelaire even?. Staring out from their Parisian window, observing life on the streets.