I'm the guy whose window you can see into from your apartment. This is my story.

You watch me as I fall to my knees, opening the refrigerator door. You like this, don’t you? Perv. I eat slices of deli turkey like a wild animal pouncing on my prey. Delicious. You think my behavior is feral. Unhinged. But you’re the one staring into my window. Consider that for a moment.

You judge me, but you don’t know my truth. You don’t know why I’m always shirtless. Sometimes I’m visibly shivering, and I still won’t put on a shirt. That’s just who I am. You don’t know why I’m drinking during a zoom call. Maybe I put normal tea in my twisted tea cans. I’m sophisticated. I’m classy. I do the worm at three in the morning right next to the window with all of the lights on. I hang upside down on my chair and stare into the sky in search of meaning and purpose. I chop up lines with my BU ID and snort them by lamplight in my street level Allston crib. There is a cat in my window at all times. I try to practice blindfolded tae kwon do and end up punching holes in my walls. I’m always at home and I’m always alone. That’s the way I like it.

Somehow, you always see me folding laundry. Why do I have so many clothes? Am I changing four times a day? Who has the time to do laundry that often? Why do I have an ironing board if I only wear oversized basketball shorts? I am the keeper of secrets for I shall know the answer and you shall be left with only questions. I am the master of all and a slave to none for I haveth the balls to live authentically. For I am the guy whose window you can see into, and secretly, I like that you watch me.