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The window
It was the middle of the afternoon but there were just two other people on the street. One was a man in a leather jacket with a cap of stretched-thin nylon; the other was a policeman. I had just stepped out of the post office, thumbing through my mail. I looked up to see them, both ignoring the other, or pretending to, while they went about their business. What business they could have in the middle of a strangely empty street, at opposite ends, I didn't know. The cop was staring at a crooked-parked Hyundai like he was debating writing a ticket or not. The guy in the jacket was leaning on a Mustang and staring up at an empty apartment window. I thought for a second I was witnessing the beginning of a modern duel: play ignorant, then draw. I had to cross the street. I waited for them to notice each other, to shoot, so I could cross safely, but they never did. When I got to my apartment I put my mail on the kitchen table and went to the window facing the street and looked down. The man in the leather jacket was staring directly at me looking at him. The cop kept staring at the Hyundai, then stiffened and looked upward over his shoulder, right at me. I walked away from the window and got a beer, cracked it open, read some mail. A few minutes later I wandered back to the window and saw three more people, in addition to the cop and the jacket guy, all standing in the street looking at me.
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