Outside, in the apartment building next door, a man and woman are arguing - she's smoking, and he's pissed, because he wants her to show "your boyfriend" some respect, and she has to keep explaining that it's her job to bum a cigarette off the guys and show them a good time, because they're paying her for a good time, and so what if she steps out and has a smoke with the girls also sometimes? And he wants her to call him when she gets to the club, and she doesn't mind, but he has to understand that she has a job to do, and she can't have him interfering. All that drama, over a cigarette.
I love Hitchcock's Rear Window so much sometimes, if only because it GETS how it feels, to live in such a confined space where voices carry. How you end up living other peoples' lives with them, even though you don't know anything, really.
GFB's going quiet for the weekend as I descend into the murky depths of Vegas - I'll be back on Sunday, glitzed and glamoured out. Hoo hah!