Looking in windows on a car ride

Someone else mentioned this habit. At that moment, and only at that moment, did I realize that it's not uniquely my game.

The first windows I remember trying to look into were the windows on third floors. I always wanted a room to myself in an attic. My dutch colonial house didn't even have an attic, so I knew this was impossible unless we moved. If I saw a house with a furnished third floor and a "for sale" sign I would take special notice. Some "normal" attics have normal windows, even curtains. I'd, in the split second I could, look for tell-tale signs: yellowed curtains meant it wasn't a livable place. Otherwise, it was fair game.

I moved down to the lower floors on the way back from Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. The lit-up houses often had other families sitting down, and I got very good at taking a mental snapshot of the dining room tables. If I saw an interesting one I'd look away from the car window and play around with the picture in my mind. Sometimes I'd be a little more mentally agile: I'd try to picture myself as part of each household, to the rhythm of the sound of passing the houses. I felt a physical resistance as I left each household and moved to the next one, like I was being dragged with short tugs by a length of rope tied around my waist.

Last Christmas I saw four houses in a row with Christmas trees lit up in the same lower right side windows, a teenager walking an elderly woman to the table, a man alone watching television, and one house lit only with the blue christmas lights on their banister.