We were at a bus stop waiting for a bus. There was a blockhouse on the other side of the street—just three floors. On the second floor was a large window with a row of books.
I always thought it was the window of the studio of an architect. I imagined the room on the other side of the window. The room is small but enough for one person to work comfortably. A large, slightly inclined desk with a large piece of paper and initial sketches of a new house. Somebody’s new home.
A small kitchen corner with a filter coffee machine. A microwave end small rice cooker. An armchair and net to it a design standing lamp. Next to it is a simple wooden shelf with a small hi-fi system and a pile of CDs. The radio is on.