Prostrate on the rug. The drapes straggle over his head as he stares out his sliding glass door. Minutes earlier he had arrived home from work dropping his clothes a few paces inside. His toes curl and toy with strands of thick shag. Nothing new on the outside. He comprehends. The second story apartments directly across the parking lot glare back. Curtains closed, drapes pulled tight keeping the in and the out in proper perspective. A snot-faced street urchin whacks at scattered pebbles with a twig. Willy returns his attention to her apartment. She’s home. Her Volkswagen snitched. There’s a ripple at her drapes. His toes freeze. Her drapes draw open head high and their eyes meet. Hold. Her grip releases and the drapes swing closed. Fixated stare, breath imperceptible. Her drapes draw from him an interest subtly colored. Previous jostles up her stairs revitalize in his thoughts. Her rides to the dumpster. A pair of panties tossed in a washer. A name on a mailbox. Revived and freshly tinted. Because a drape had been parted. A law had been breached. And, for now, she had looked at him. Also.