Only after my wife forbid my cigarette smoking in the apartment and I stood on our balcony in the evenings, usually freezing, to satisfy my nicotine addiction, did I notice her. The woman in the apartment across from me. Usually she cooked in her one-room apartment. Green pullover, rollers in her hair, sometimes scantily clad. Since I stood in the dark, I started to develop an image of her on these evenings when I saw her.
