Street Window
I never thought I would write a story about windows, and yet it happened
Rear Window. Alfred Hitchcock. 1954. Grace Kelly. James Stewart. I loved that movie, one of my favorites from Hitchcock with North by Northwest and Rope.
Street window. 2020. Me and me alone. The lockdown. Sitting at my desk, I look out my window, looking for some signs that life goes on out there despite our forced retirement.
No murder in sight, but life goes on despite the measures put in place by the government. Across the street, the old hotel restaurant with its dilapidated front door is closed. At the corner of the alley, the small grocery store considered an essential business is open almost every day and sells alcohol to red-faced regulars.
A little further to the left up the main street, one of the best bakeries in my area allows me to taste good bread and succulent pastries almost every day. On one of the roofs opposite, wood pigeons seem inseparable and kiss for a long time.
Leaning on a window sill to the right of the hotel restaurant, an old man with greying hair and badly dressed is doing his crossword puzzle and from time to time leaves his newspaper to look at passers-by or bring his beer can to his mouth.
