The other day I passed the downtown Hyatt, and looked up at the hotel room windows. Every curtain was drawn with the exception of one, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the open window and what could be seen beyond. An open laptop sat on a desk, and four large post-it notes had been stuck to the glass. I instantly wondered what was written on them. I wanted to be in that room. I wanted to be sitting at that desk looking down at the people walking the city streets below, and I yearned to be typing furiously about incoming and outpouring thoughts that undoubtedly would have been flowing through my mind if it had, in fact, been me in that room. I would have made notes about the commuters in their VW bugs, oblivious to the downtown traffic, with their false sense of security wrapped around them in a swaddle of metal and plastic. I would have commented on their choice of music and how pretentious it is of them to listen to it as if they are in an advertising campaign. I might have smiled and then let out a little chuckle when the city buses passed each other and then slowed down in the middle of the intersection, causing an uproar of horns and hollers, only to wave and nod to their friend. It would occur to me that people don’t have time for being friends these days.

Then a shadow moved past the curtain and I saw a woman in a business suit lean over the computer to type something while simultaneously talking to someone on her cell phone. I sighed at the realization that she probably wouldn’t be taking advantage of the scene laid out before her…act one in a play that hasn’t been written yet.

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