I am curious about the way other people live their lives, particularly those who are close by. There’s nothing prurient in my interest, merely a wish to find a common ground, to notice and feel compassion. Take Smoker (2) for instance. As I have said before we can see his bedroom window from the front windows of our flat. We look down on him so to speak. I haven’t seen his two young children arrive for some time now. They used to come almost every weekend. I’d see them running up the steps after being dropped off by their mother while Smoker (2) would linger behind with her for a word. The kids would rush into the block, clearly knowing their way and seemingly happy to be there. He’s been alone each morning this week. I’ve seen him sprawled or sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, a hoodie on in this cold weather, reading his phone. I attribute a sadness to him but I could be wrong. He may be content in his solitude, who knows.
