It’s like sitting on your front steps smoking a cigarette and watching the light from the corner bedroom in the third floor apartment across the street go on and off again. What are they doing up there in the dark? Probably the same thing you are, but that sudden connection of soft light makes you wonder. It’s so sudden, covering the apartment in a faint golden hue — what parts of it you can see from your steps, anyway. It’s the stretches of brick between the window panes that you are listening for intently. And when they’re left open, the sound drips from the sill like melting icicles. I still can’t figure out where the subtle drum taps are coming from.