32. Voyeurism

21/11/08

I headed for home when I began to feel the sun sink. The walk is colder and longer after dark. I dragged my feet to avoid more argument and hurried to put things right.

B. was already in the kitchen cooking away and listening to some crazy jazz thing.
Another change in mood.
He was in his element - two houses explored and then revealed to me in gleeful detail. One spell-binding in the tacky nicknacks, stack of unwashed washing and cringeworthy items hidden under beds and in drawers. The other a tantalising store of treasures, from the delicatessent delights being prepared for tea, to the pile of records ready to provide the evening's entertainment.
His eyes shone and he laughed as he described his tours of the houses, room by room, cupboard, by cupboard, box, bag, tin. The moment he found the 'mint jazz' - original Sun-Ra vinyl, Miles Davies, John Coltrane, Cecil Taylor. The rather unfortunate underwear, he'd kindly left draped where he found it.
Against my better judgement I got drawn in, wishing I'd been there on this first exploration into the secret lives of local folk we only knew as faces.

The need to leave was forgotten as a world of infiltration opened its doors and beckoned us in.