ryan quinn flanagan | peeping trent

Peeping Trent

The young guy a few apartments over
is always looking in the windows
of others.

One day
a few weeks ago
I came to the kitchen
for a beer
and caught the bastard
peeking in.

Now he was doing it
a few apartments down.

That son of bitch is doing it again,
I told the girl I was living with
at the time.


The young guy from across the way.
He’s peeping through windows
in the middle of the day

Who? That guy with the blonde hair
and tight jeans?


That’s Trent,
replied my girl.
He wouldn’t do that.
He’s probably lost something.

I countered.
Who loses something everyday around the same time?
Come here, take a look.

Stop being so nosey,
my girl said as she put away groceries.

Stop being so nosey!,
I shot back incredulously.
what about this guy?

Mind your own business.
He’s a nice guy.
I’m sure he wouldn’t do that.

I walked away from the window
without remark
and into the next room.

I didn’t ask how my girl knew
the blonde guy in the tight jeans
was a nice guy
named Trent
who didn’t do what he was doing.

Somehow I knew
I didn’t want to know.

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