A few Friday nights ago, across the street from my house, a skinny fella with spiky blond hair and a black t-shirt was scaling the ledge of a 2nd story apartment, inching toward the octagonal corner window. The light was on, and one of the windows was ajar. Once there, he rapped at the glass with his knuckles, waved inside, and gingerly lowered himself to open the window further, presumably to climb inside. He couldn't get into a position to use his strength, though, and, after struggling to raise the ledge by himself for a few minutes (I was openly gawking at this point), he had to motion to the person inside for assistance. No one came; illustrating his predicament with body language wasn't cutting it, so, to explain verbally, he bent over almost completely to put his mouth next to the opening. Then he raised his head, gestured vigorously once more, and lo and behold, a female head popped up at the sill. But she, too, seemed to be in an awkward position. Her elbows were almost as high as her head, so it didn’t look like she was bringing additional strength to the endeavor. Various distributions of force were attempted, but it was no use. (The windows of my Victorian home are similarly difficult to budge, though I've never tried to open them wide enough for a person -- because, unfortunately, there hasn't been the need). More verbal communication was needed, so the gentlemen inched backwards on the ledge to lower his head to the crevice. An attempt to persuade, an argument. The head inside shook vigorously, defiant. Her companion, exasperated, motioned to dispense with the whole enterprise and depart. As he was turning, the head, unwilling to lose him, got into a more comfortable position, exposing her bare breasts, and, just as I, mortified, was turning away, more below. Encouraged, the lad turned back to assist his more participatory partner. I walked the few doors down to my address, but, turning back as I unlocked the door and went inside, they were still struggling with it.