Assignment Two/Creative Writing

I found my religion when I was fifteen years old. A passion for the city, for the chaos, for the unexpected. From the fire escape I could watch the city fold and unfold from morning till night. I’d sit, letting my legs dangle over the side, with a cigarette and cup of coffee. I’d watch the Korean man who owned the grocery across the street open up, and I’d watch him close. He’d move to the Rolling Stones on my headphones, sweeping, moving, folding, unfolding. Around eight, the crazy lady living below me would crawl out her window onto her fire escape wearing only trashy red lingerie smoking a long Virginia Slim. At precisely 8:02, the Korean grocery man would appear in the front window and steal long gazes at the crazy lady who was now posing, making an art of her slutty lingerie and long cigarette. After a long last look, he’d slip back into his store, as slowly as the crazy lady would slip into her half opened window. They’d both turn and look back at each other, but never at the same time. (He never knew that she wore that lingerie for him.) Around 8:08 I’d crawl back into the tiny apartment, step over the boys sleeping on the floor and pour myself another cup of coffee. (Out the window.)

“Hey, whatcha doin’ out here all the time?” asked Crack, sticking his awkward shaved head out the window.
“I’m watchin’,” I answered.
“That’s all you ever fuckin’ do.” He tilted his head and spit on the street below, then drug the back of his hand slowly across his mouth, and slinked back into the apartment.
I faced the street again, took a sip of my coffee, and watched a world that struggled to be predictable, as did I, day after day.