There is nothing that I love more than walking along a street just after dusk. It is one of the only times where you can get a glimpse into people's lives without being noticed. The street I was walking along tonight had a wide variety of rooms for me to imagine what the lives of the people inside are like. There are the student houses with the collection of liquor bottles placed in the place of honor, either on the mantle or directly on the window pane; and the collection of cheesy posters and pictures that just scream immature undergraduate trying to make it by on student loan money. These places take me back to when I was a student, and the novelty of living on my own for the first time. Then there is the quiet unassuming house with icicle lights hanging over the top of the windows, making the stain glass panes shine in ways that the sun could never do during the day in the porch. Inside I saw a man standing in the archway to his livingroom and diningroom playing the violin. I strained to hear what he was playing, but couldn't...but I imagine that it was a soulful tune, one that he found himself getting lost in. I find myself lost in their rooms and what I imagine their life to be, making up stories with the pictures on the wall and the shoes sitting outside on the step. Every once in awhile there is a room, with a family, that I imagine will be mine.