I couldn't help but peek.
A drab of grubby plastic framed windows
Directly in view from
Our state-of-the-art office.

No avoiding it.

Twelve windows to our one.
Little boxes with careless curtains.
Some drawn open, resolutely.
Private lives on public display.

Must be DHS.

A single bed shabbily unmade.
A pile of clothes thrown across a chair.
I stared in as he stared out. Or vice-versa?
Both of us locked in high-rise premise.