Windows 

And then there she was. She found gerself in the backseat of a brand new car, a sadness forever loooming in her eyes.
They were passing through saddar bazaar now. Lights everywhere, noise, life. Shops bustling with customers. Little boys playing in front of the printing presses, the owners frowning upon them. Young men sitting in front of small fires, oil-stained sleeves, dirty faces.
And then, above the life, the excitement, sober, worn-down rooms above the actual shops. Rooms with tired, wrinkled, maternal faces sighing on other, younger, hyper faces. Rooms which did not offer the view of the interior to outsiders. Rooms with windows. Closed windows, open windows, windows with cracked glass. Lit and unlit windows. Windows with drawn curtains, windows boarded up, locked windows. Spotless windows and greased windows. Windows stained with oil, windows stained with blood, windows with dust accumulated on them. Windows with warm yellow glows and windows with cold, electric white lights. Windows with broken glass. Homely windows and windows that wore the look of lonely bachelor rooms reeking with homesickness. Windows with plain paper, windows covered by newspapers, windows plastered with the plaster of Paris. Windows closed off by cement and brick, and windows open to let the cold, January air into suffocated spaces. Windows with metal shutters, windows with rusted iron frames. Windows almost covered with wild vines and creepers engulfing them whole. Windows reflecting the dancing lights below, windows reflecting the moonlight, and still windows which did not reflect light nor give out any of their own. Ill-fitting windows stuffed with newspapers and rags. Happy windows and depressed ones. No large windows, though. Small windows. The shapes varied, but the size was the same. Small.
Just like their vision. Small people, she thought. And then sighed.
Such diversity in these windows. Such life, such character. She wished for a moment, just a moment, almost feverently, that she could escape this car and run upstairs into any of those rooms. And live. Live a life full of hardship and poverty, yes, but also adventure and excitement. Curiosity and want. 
Just for a moment, she wished she could trade her lonely red bricked, wooden floored, huge house with its lawns and vegetable gardens with a two-roomed apartment here.
 Just for a moment, before a reality struck and logic returned. Just for the moment, her eyes shone, and she felt.