The long low flat roof took on the moon. The moon glided on mid-century modern details, racked the corner and vanished in horizontal lines. I walked to another street and it looked like a different house from there.

Through a window, an arm appeared that picked up a ringing phone. "Hello?" I imagined a woman's voice saying. The window glass was obscured by shadow. Therefore, I imagined the arm must belong to a bitter woman, whose husband was late coming home, who didn't let her know how much money they had in the bank, and who dreamed of leaving her yet would never let her go, because she gave him comforts. She cooked deep green celery soups, and she cleaned  without seeming to make an effort.

It was despair that made the woman's arm reappear fleetingly in the window and leave the phone there.