The observing Stance (in too many but simple words)

Noon, the sky is low, the air is fresh and filled with a weak light, i am still drowsy, standing by the window i drink a cup of pepsi, yeah it's not coffee, it's a small amount of pepsi, that unhealthy sugary beverage, in a tiny white cup with a broken handle, (i awkwardly but precisely hit the top of it in the sink, some days ago, it broke neatly in a single sharp note), and i'm thinking how it's classy to hold a cup by keeping one's back straight like a pole, the arm folded in front of me carefully nesting that porcelain objet, mentally it shows an image of someone with maneer, caring and education, maybe that's a part in why, unconsciously, people drink coffee in cafes, "to look classy";
Spring is here, the garden down the third floors is verdant, in a flashy green, people let open their doors and windows, a small fluffy cream-colored dog is lying on the tiling floor in the frame of one of those, he lifts his head and sees me up there, accross the alley, after a moment staring at me with a sad look he slowly puts himself on his paws and scampers toward me, stopping at the gate, at the end of the ground path, also the end of his territory;
The house to the right is empty, they stripped it down, probably even scrapped the wallpaper, i noticed it that week, boorish men came with a rusty truck to dismantle all the furnitures that was inside, making it fire wood, they tore down the sink, the water-heater, and all the other apparatuses, i guess the only thing left in there is the rancid smell of old dust and moisture, i remember when i arrived in my appartement i used to sometimes spot a lonely old woman living there, like me watching by the window, her elbows resting on the edge, (maybe spying at me as i spied at her), her time was probably over recently;
On the left house there's a yard made of gravel, a slick white plastic table is set in the middle, on which the sun rays reflects at me on clear days, and today a frail woman is sitting here, i've seen her before, from afar, and i always pictured her as a forty something going on woman with spanish origins, yesterday i noticed she was limping badly as she hung wet sheets on the clothes-line, stretching all along that yard, she seems tired, a book with a turquoise cover is laid on the table, she looks meditative, but maybe she's just resting in the calmness of this pretty, dreary, and classy morning.