WINDOW

WINDOW

WINDOW

When you enter the room it is through the door at the end
of a long corridor. The door is painted red but the room
is blue. The body of the man sits at the table in the far
right-hand corner. It does not move. The twisted cord
you pick up from the ground next to his shiny black
shoes is as stiff as a malt whiskey and just as good.
There is a radio on the table. There is a radio on
the table playing Cagney playing Bogart playing
himself. The radio is listening to you. You are
listening to what is coming through the open
window even though it makes no sound
even though it is as silent as the man
in the chair. Something coming
through the window and you
can feel the hairs on your
neck do their little dance
and when you exit as
you must now that
you have entered
it is through
the win
do
w.

In the room the curtains move.
In the room the curtains move.