Venetian blind

Sitting on the chair in my room on the second (or third?) floor of a building I look through the window and watch the people passing by.
I cannot see everything, the strips of the Venetian blind sometimes close and open because of the wind, they sometimes move away revealing parts of the scene outside. They sometimes move slowly and patiently letting me see all the details of that car parked on the street right across the square, or allow me to watch that drunk man trying to cross the street at 6 p.m. (drunk at this hour!) I laugh...
Or sometimes a gust of wind makes the strips produce a frenetic movement and then I can only see flashes of what is going on outside, a lady and a dog, two school girls, cars, cars, drunk man, a man on the phone, pigeons, people, flashes, only flashes...
Looking at all those people, I try to think about them, I try to understand them and learn about their lives... But all I have are flashes, pictures reflected on a window.
They don't know me, they cannot see me and I can only see what the strips of the blind allow me to see, the whole picture, parts of it, flashes of it...
I shut the strips.