I look for a sill wide enough for a cup and a notebook. Then I wait. The street below writes itself: a cart, a schoolbag, a cat that believes it owns the shade.
Waiting as travel skill
Waiting is a travel skill. It is how you notice that the call to late afternoon is also a change in the color of plaster. It is how you decide not to force a second outing when the first one already filled the day.
A window is a small theatre. You are not the director.