And then there's the issue of my window: it's a front one, for starters, and it offers up a far different world than the rear window by which Jimmy Stewart observed a rainbow of humanity. Mine offers up giggling girls holding their fathers' hands and chattering couples en route to the corner pub. Mundane stuff. I've never once spied a burly gentleman carting his dead wife around in a trunk.
But every once in while my front window yields something of its own. Like a kinetic young fellow displaying his most marketable skill for a lady friend. It's not the stuff of feature films, granted, but it does help pass the day.
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