in the window
I wonder if her husband ever notices the lipstick.
The citizens in the heart of the Shandong province breathe as deeply and as thoroughly as their fellow neighbors do, speak in tongues and topics as familiar as their fellow neighbors do, and know of as many secrets, lies, and rumors as their fellow neighbors do. Words pass through the streams of hawkers and businessmen alike as easily as money does, and with so many exchanged hands -- for everyone in the Shandong province has known the coin of another at some point -- it is nearly impossible to keep any misdoing secret. Too many eyes, mouths, and opportunities for the nosy and the curious to peer into an apartment and truly discover their fellow citizen's folly.
I've watched the woman in the window leave with the overcoat-bearing man exactly five times now, each tryst begging the application for red lips and rosy cheeks. Each return humbling the state of her typical housewife's updo and perfectly ironed cheongsam. She is intelligent and thrill-seeking and vigilant all at once, and I wonder if the window to her living room ever worries her.
I caught her eye once. She smiled.