Every window tells a story. But, as I soon found out, not every story is created equal.
After my pleasant stint at the suburban home, I was pulled away for a fresh assignment. I felt the cool touch of adhesive and found myself stretched over the window of a car. I was mobile, racing down the streets of Melbourne, every turn revealing a new sight.
But my vehicular adventures came to an end when, one day, the car entered a commercial glass tinting business close to Melbourne. I braced myself, and before I knew it, I was peeled away and readied for a new journey.
My next “life” was a world away from the mobile escapades of the sedan. I was affixed to the large front window of a cozy café. Here, the world moved at a more deliberate pace. I watched as people from all walks of life entered, each with a story to share.
There was the couple on their first date, exchanging shy glances. The woman nervously fidgeted with her earrings while the man tried, and failed, to come up with a witty anecdote. Next, the “writer”, a gentleman in his thirties, with a scruffy beard, who’d spend hours gazing out of the window (aka at me) with a pensive look. He’d occasionally type a word or two but was mostly content nursing his flat white.
And then, the breakups. Ah, the drama! “It’s not you, it’s me,” said one teary-eyed girl to her bewildered boyfriend. In another corner, a man was showing his partner a chart about why they should split. A chart!
In one of my quieter moments, as the sun set, painting Melbourne in a golden hue, I caught a glimpse of another window across the street. It bore a sign advertising commercial frosted window tinting for businesses. I couldn’t help but wonder what stories those frosted peers of mine had to share. But for now, I was content with my ever-changing tableau of the café and its patrons.
As I settled into my new café life, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for these diverse experiences. From vehicles to venues, Melbourne was truly a city of stories. And I, Tinty, was here for it all.