In my quest on a return to fitness I walk a lot, the extra couple of miles a day nipping over the my folks’ house and back all adds up I’m sure.
I pass this old tenement and it’s become a thing for me, seeing what lights are on. It’s mostly kitchens and bedrooms on this side so sometimes it’s in darkness but sometimes everyone has had the same idea and is making supper or getting ready for bed.
I assume. Maybe there’s a child who won’t go to bed that’s making PlayDoh Marvel figures in the kitchen while mum watches Call the Midwife (that’s not a gender stereotype btw, Midwife is the second best thing on the telly after Casualty) and in the bedrooms are middle aged men with train sets desperately seeking youth before reality pulls them back under on Monday morning.
Every window has a story. Mainly made up ones obviously.