Our apartment in the 11th is quite basic. All the windows open into a courtyard of other windows. With the lights out, I can see people’s lives unfold. A person’s life is a slow flash, and I watch my neighbors argue, make up, make love, and fry meat. I can tell that one of my neighbors is unhappy, because he sits by the telephone and sometimes picks it up to make sure he can hear a dial tone, but it never rings when he’s at home. Michel says his wife left him, and if there’s ever a time I can’t think of anyone to pray for, I should pray for him