For a while, I spent a lot of evenings working late at my mom’s office.
Across the way were a few apartments I gradually became rather familiar with.
There were these two people who talked. Constantly.
Hours later, they would still be there. I often wondered what on earth they had left to discuss. I eventually started referring to them affectionately as “the Talkers”.
Downstairs, Fridays were a rather different affair. There was a young couple who seemed to spend every sunny afternoon outside, usually stretched out on their loungers, drinks nearby, looking like they were having the time of their lives.
They were an incredibly social bunch. There always seemed to be people over, usually with music playing. Sometimes it was so loud that I wondered how on earth none of the neighbours complained.
One floor above the Talkers, things seemed considerably busier.
Behind the office was another apartment building. There was a man who always had his blinds down. He was also a chain smoker, which meant that, rather ironically, he was one of the people I ended up seeing most often.
For a while, there was a woman who looked remarkably like him. Then, at some point, I stopped seeing her.
I didn’t see these people every day. Sometimes weeks went by. And then I’d look across and discover that something had changed.
I often wonder if those two are still talking. I suppose they’re all still over there.
*Images in this article are AI-generated visual interpretations of personal observations.