The Sign In Sidney Brustein's Window Novels & Stories

Couldn't see through the glass windows smoked; it was up to you to guess who worked there. Instead, the windows reflected images: a group of men in suits, a few well-dressed women carrying bags of shopping, a beggar sprawled on the sidewalk begging. Nav's work was brilliant and made you think. I was very happy with your presentation. at Galerie Beau Soleil. The man next to me sniffed and I saw him jotting down question marks on his margin of a document. I went back to my email to Theresa.

The clean lines, the floor-to-ceiling glass, the city glittering forty stories below like something fake, like a painting someone had hung up to fill an empty wall. Selina had stood at that window once. Early on, before everything became complicated and jagged between us. She had pressed her fingertips to the glass and looked out at the lights with this expression I had noticed but never commented on, something between wonder and sadness, like she was trying to memorize something she knew she wouldn’t get to keep. I hadn’t understood it then...

I love it. A small bulletproof window inside the tiny lobby is located on the right-hand side of the door I walk in through. The walls are painted white over cinderblock with no decorative embellishments at all. I walk over and press the buzzer to the side of the window. It takes about sixty seconds for Meagan to leave her desk and walk to the service window. Her eyes grow large when she sees me. “Hi, Meagan, how are you?” I say with a smile. It’s clear she’s unsure how exactly she should answer and that’s too damn bad. She has a slight look of horror on her face as she examines my stitches and bruising. Today I make orange look good.

Selina was likely one of them. The driver eventually pulled the car over in front of a brownstone with large bay windows with a sign over the door that read “William Brown, Esq.” Selina got out of the car without a word and started for the door -- I did the same, standing behind her as she rapped on the door with the brass knocker.

I went to take a shower after dinner. It was then that I suddenly saw a weird palm print on the glass window. Someone must have left that palm print behind with their soapy hand while taking a shower. The print was quite faint and white against the shiny glass on the window. It was obviously a woman's handprint, and it wasn't mine. My hand was a little bigger than this. So I couldn't have been the one who put it there. It couldn't have been my daughter, Bella Quinton, either. She had tiny hands and wasn't even tall enough to reach that spot yet. Also, it definitely did not belong to my husband, Rory Quinton.

He didn’t speak for a while; I did not check on him instead I keep on looking for that half open blue curtain. “Look at this.” Where is that Space Probe 130 EQ Reflector Telescope came from? I take a look and saw that window. He went back to his riffle. “Brian lives there, he always keep his window open. At 10 pm he takes a glass of wine and look outside his window…he does that for 15minutes.. .and left that window open till morning.” “Are we shooting him from this distance?” “No.” he keep on saying no, I didn’t know what else to ask.

Briggs: Interesting. A pause from him, then: Briggs: Because I can see your car. My heart skips. What? Briggs: Parkway. My breath stills. Briggs: And your silhouette. I froze. Briggs: You’re standing by the window. My head snaps toward the glass, the curtain is slightly parted. Shit. My phone buzzes again, a picture of my car parked exactly where I left it. Then another; the building, and then a blurred shot of the window.

I said. He told me. I sat down on the sofa and listened and when he finished I looked at the middle distance for a moment and thought about Room 14. Every Thursday at 4:00, The sessions before and after the line crossed, the building around us, corridors, staff rooms, the covered walkway, the inner courtyard visible through the window with the broken latch. The window with the broken latch. I looked at Gabriel. “The window,” I said. He looked at me. “The first session,” I said. “Before anything happened. You told me the window latch didn’t catch properly, that’s how you got in.” I held his gaze. “Which means the window was accessible from outside, from the courtyard.”

But wait, isn't he in New York? Not long after, I saw a pair of men and women almost kissing at the coquettish ghost window. That woman looks so bitch. Matches with Bryan the flirtatious ghost. After they finished making out hot by the window, they released their link. Without realizing it, a flirty ghost looked at me, winked, then closed her bedroom window again. Ahhh shit. Why was I silent earlier? And has my innocent brain been polluted by the free mandarin film earlier?