Not in a creepy way.
I love looking at what they’ve got sat in their windowsill, and imagining the kind of person that stuff would belong to. Picturing the layout, and wondering if I’ll ever live somewhere similar, and whether they like it or not. I often find myself getting carried away trying to envision myself living in that place, in that location, even going as far as to imagine a career and social circles and a morning routine for myself, only to be jolted back to reality when I see the sillouhette of the inhabitant, the vague and shadowy suggestion of a real life person rather than some sort of self-insert. If I’m caught staring, I try to give them a look that says “you’d really benefit from investing in a pair of curtains,”.
