Looking into other people's houses

One of the great pleasures of living in the Plateau is the ability to walk through quiet, shady streets, where the only movement is the ghostly shadow of trees flickering on the brick houses and the twitch of front curtains as suspicious neighbours press their nose to the front window.

Now that it's colder, I've abandoned my bike and opted for comfortable shoes instead. Walking home from yoga. Strolling to the theatre. Hoofing it to the pharmacy. Whether it's five minutes or 45, whether I'm iPod-equipped or not, I am up to task because as long as I have eyes, I will always be entertained.

Or should I say, as long as y'all keep your curtains slightly parted, I will always be entertained.

When I was in CEGEP and university, I hated taking the bus because a long stretch of the route cut across Westmount. The houses are certainly quite grandiose and sometimes beautiful, but it seemed to me that no one actually lives in Westmount. Other than the glow of a Lalique lamp in the window or the presence of a car in the driveway, you'd be hard pressed most days to find any sign of life in those mansions. It's like all the rich people are safely esconced in the deepest corners of their houses, where poverty and sad things can't reach them.

That's what I love about my neighbourhood - life is right there on the street, honestly represented in all its pecularities. Things I love to get a fleeting glimpse of as I whoosh past your windows:

• The blue flicker of the TV on walls
• Piles of books, hastily stacked in corners
  
• A nice leather couch
• A knife abandoned in a jar of peanut butter on the side table
  
• A laundry basket on the floor (contents optional)

Anyone else out there want to fess up? Come on - you'll feel better!

PS. Photo brought to you by Esteve Favrel.
For more: http://picasaweb.google.com/estevefavrel