It always gives me a rush when I look in the window. Every time I pass by, I have to stop and stare in the enormous picture window as if the glass has hypnotic powers. My attraction is not just about the high-end pieces like the cow-print Eames sofa or the Bang & Olufsen floor speakers. There’s something about the apartment that just gets me. I could totally picture myself living there. I’d have to replace the cow-print sofa with a zebra-print, but still. Everything down to the last detail—the big arc lamp swooping over the sofa, the color-block area rug, the Paul Klee print—are things I would have selected for my own place. The living room looks so cozy at night with the warm glow of the lamplight and candles lit on the coffee table and fresh flowers in a blown-glass vase. Darcy Stewart is not a homebody, but that home could be mine. Standing at the gate in front of the picture window in the bright morning sunlight, separated from the building by an enclosed area with perfectly landscaped plants and potted flowers, I envision myself on the other side of the glass.
