By RLM Cooper
There he is again. Looking. High-rise living isn’t exactly as private as everyone says. I might not know my neighbors, but he certainly knows every curve of me. What would he do if I gave him a real show? I’ll just casually unbutton my blouse and lay it aside here on the bed.
Is he embarrassed? Really? Then why does he stare across the way at me? He doesn’t look young. Nor old. Maybe he’s lonely. Maybe crippled. Maybe he has no one at all.
So many stories. So much pain.
I will be kind—and close the curtains.