Izzy crawled over on her hands and knees and snatched the binoculars she had tossed. She slowly peeked them over the window and took a glance.

“Oh meu deus, he is so perfect for you,” she breathed dramatically.

“Shove over!” I shrieked, grabbing the binoculars from her and taking a peek. He was peering out curiously from his window. He was considerably young, not a day over twenty five. He was a bit scruff as well, shaggy hair and a lack of shaving. But he had something terribly bookish about him. I could imagine him writing lengthy compositions on philosophy, or stealing books from the library just for the lurid thrill. But he also looked hurt, and that ruined the fantasy.

“Marguerite! You’re hogging the binoculars!” Izzy said in a hushed tone, punching me in the arm. I stopped dreaming and gave them over to her. He shouted something across the alley way, but I couldn’t understand him, my French was horrible.

“Let’s hope he speaks English or Portuguese,” Izzy said, still watching.