[ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ]	She sometimes sings when she’s getting undressed. I can tell by the way she moves her salacious lips as she slides on her pajamas. She sways her hips a little and mouths the words to some song, I like to imagine that it’s R&B, some slow jam that’s made for making babies. And when she’s finished, she reads in bed for a while. I can’t make out what she reads, but I like to imagine that they are thriller novels. The ones that scare you, but you can’t put them down. I could get binoculars to see better, but I’m no peeping tom. I don’t know why I do this exactly, except that I enjoy it. I don’t know why I enjoy it, I just know that it makes me happy. I don’t know why it makes me happy, it’s just something I do. I don’t know if it is normal, but I can’t see the hurt in it. After all, if she didn’t want me to look, she wouldn’t leave her blinds open. Friday is no different. I’m already undressed at eight fifty-five and I’m sitting in my bed waiting for her to come into the bedroom and start undressing. Nine o’clock rolls around and she’s not there. Something must be wrong. I have been doing this for over a month now, and she’s never been late. Where is she? Nine fifteen and still no sign. What should I do? Should I call the police? Something bad could have happened to her? But what would I say? That the girl I stare at every night is late for her usual strip tease? But what if she’s hurt? What if she needs help? I wait anxiously until ten o’clock when she stumbles in. She’s walking crooked, but she’s probably just tired. She probably got caught up at work, or went to dinner or something. It doesn’t matter, because she’s back. Wait, she’s not alone. A man follows her. What the fuck is he doing there? He sneaks behind her and starts kissing the nape of her neck. Get off of her! But she smiles. She turns around and kisses him back. They’re making out in front of me and I feel like I’m getting cheated on. She turns back towards the window and smiles. She looks like she’s smiling at me, but I know she’s not. She can’t see me in my darkened bedroom. She keeps smiling as she turns the rod and closes the blinds for the first time in a month.