Walking home from the pool, I happened on a song on my iPod which took me back to a feeling I had forgotten. Frank Sinatra, from an album I listened to when I was missing someone so much I thought I would just one day, simply cease being.

I walked through the darkening streets, listening, and passed the small Fula shop where I buy my gas. In a tall white building up above, I saw what I thought was a statue head posing in the window frame. It was a young black woman, a cloth covering her head as she gazed out the kitchen window. Framed in the adjacent window was her boss, watching the same evening scene, but from the heavily decorated living room window. Neither knew the other was there.