No Man is an Island

The sound of a chair scraping over the plaster alerts me I’m no longer alone. I turn my head, the binoculars still held to my eyes, to find a man, across the way, in an adjoining building, watching — us? — through the window.
Built from experience. Designed for practice

The sound of a chair scraping over the plaster alerts me I’m no longer alone. I turn my head, the binoculars still held to my eyes, to find a man, across the way, in an adjoining building, watching — us? — through the window.