The Voyeur

Leo kept his binoculars in a box under his bed behind another box of old knick-knacks, even though as an object they were innocent. So was Leo, on the outside, so what if he liked to contemplate, while looking off unfocused, the things he would do that might garner judgments, things alternating between heroic and criminal. In the end, thought Leo, those things were the same; the only difference was the outcome, whether anyone was saved or only lost.

Yes, he convinced himself of this while he stood at his window on the 18th floor with his binoculars aimed down at the room across the block, 15th floor, beneath the porch with the flower boxes and next to the whitish stain on the bricks. The room that did not have shades.