The stranger in my window

I have known you since July 2008.
I know where you live. On the 3rd floor of 21 Carlton Street. I know that your condo had a balcony. A tiny one. Tiny or big enough to fit two foldable balcony chairs. In beige fabric. One plastic foldable balcony table, on which stands a yellowish beiegish planter that is plantless because it is used as an ashtray.

I know that every day at around noon, you make your first appearance on this baclony, sit on the above mentioned chairs, place a Starbucks coffee on the above mentioned table and smoke a couple of ciggaretes, which you flick into the above mentioned planter acting as an ashtray. I know that your balcony is your place to come out and sit on , only when you need to smoke.

I know you are tall. I am guestimating 6 feet plus. Big. Sort of in a rotund way. You have blonde hair. When you are home, you are mostly in lounging clothes. T-shirts, baggy sweatshirts, track pants, shorts. Flip flops. Always, flip flops on the feet.

Your body language is relaxed. Bordering on lazy.

The first time in the day that you come out on your baclony is when you have just woken up and risen out of bed. Clothes dishevelled, eyes sleepy, hair tousled up, expression grumpy as in "not a morning person" grumpy.

And you are definitely a morning smoker. You need your coffee and smoke as soon as you get out of bed.

And you are not an early riser. You normally get out of bed around noon.

Which often makes me wonder what you do? Like, for a living. I guess, maybe a student, with classes starting late. Or a working professional with a night shift kind of job. Those are the two most obvious ones. You could be so many other things.

Late riser, that you are, for sure.

I think you have a girlfriend. The again, she could be a friend, maybe even a sister. But I like to think of her as a girlfriend. She is there on Sundays. Aound noon, you both sit out and talk. She talks, she is very chatty. You mostly listen. You smoke a couple of ciggarettes. She, one or two. She is regular. Every Sunday, so far.

Then sometimes, there are other people. Like your friend the other day. With the 'mad scientist" look. Wearing a tie and walking out on the balcony with a bong in his hand. Smoking up, the two of you. Lots of ciggarettes that day. The rare time that I actually saw you in the evening.

Because mostly I just see you in the afternoon. When I am in my kitchen, fixing and eating my lunch. I see you sitting there. Smoking. Talking on your cell phone. Gazing blankly into space. And so, while I eat my luch, I glance at you. And I try and imagine who you are, what you're thinking, how your day has been and what you are like. And then I'm done lunch or you're done smoking and we go our separate ways.

You are the stranger. Who lives in the condo facing mine.

You are a stranger. And I have known you for the last 11 months.