opalescence

If I can't live, I can at least dream, right?

I love people watching. This office of mine, on the corner of 2nd and Monmouth is so incredibly conducive to people watching and this makes me glad. Happy even.There's a very large picture window in front, and just beside that a heavy glass door. I sit inside, not such a long distance from either the window or the door, but almost completely clear from eye-shot for anyone walking past. It's not the direction they would think to look. It is one among many picture windows. One of several heavy glass doors entering dozens of poorly-lit offices.

This office is poorly lit, but is redeemed by the ever so jovial spirits that work inside.

There is a woman who walks by several times every day. Her short, spikey hair is chartreuse. It is brilliant. She is always wearing funky tights under a short skirt or dress. Black and white Dr. Seuss stripes are a popular choice as are fishnets. She has a dog. I don't know what kind. A cute little mix. She sometimes stops next door at the Pet Shop Boys (not their actual name, just a moniker that Amanda and I bestowed on them) to pick up tasty comestibles for her precious little pooch. She's fun to watch though. I want to bump into her one of these days. I don't think she smokes. Smoking is always a good way to meet strangers.

There is also a picture window directly behind me. In fact, it is so close behind me that if I, mid-day, decide to perform a full-body stretch (the double arch back in your seat, arms completely behind you type of stretch) I will hit the shades with my arms and make a big ruckus. haha. ruckus... anyway,there is this picture window behind me and it is at street level. There is a traffic light. So if I so choose, I can look at all the cars all day that stop at the traffic light, or at the very least, listen to whatever tunes they have selected on the hifi.
Just now, there was a large, red SUV parked at the light. Two gentlemen controlled the vehicle as (I'm assuming) pilot and co-pilot. They had those nifty spinning rims on tires that were roughly the size of a fourth grader. Their music was loud. L-O-U-D. The window was rattling it was so loud. This garnered the attention of Amanda, who came to survey the obtrusive vehicle and its obnoxiously loud sound system. We beat our heads back and forth to the rhythm of whatever indecipherable hip-hop track was playing. And then we laughed as a police cruiser pulled up behind the truck at the light and the driver promptly turned down his music.

"What music, officer?"

Sometimes I really like Jersey City. Other times it is just a city, that is in Jersey.