A New Town Out of the Window

Looking out of the fourth floor window at work this afternoon; a bright, hot sky, no trace of cloud, a heat wave echo from the last days of May. The first of September and no sign of sutumn yet.
I was call-listening, which just means listening to calls taken by other customer services representatives. It was a quiet afternoon, not many calls, and my attention wondered to the window to my left.
A familiar enough sight - central Brighton - a clustered mass of buildings and roofs - the church tower near Ship Street, but I hadn't seen it from this particular vantage point, out of a fourth floor window on a building down West Street.
It seemed like a different town. One, I thought, that seemed to be located in Scotland, maybe in Aberdeenshire. The latter point was strange in itself. I lived near Aberdeen when I was a child. Well, near-ish, but I think we visited there only once. It was an hours drive away or so. Possibly longer. Why had the view outside the window started me thinking of a town near Aberdeen - to be precise just south of Aberdeen? This new Brighton out of the window felt as it was still on the coast, but had a rather large river running through it down to the sea. This new town grew in my imagination. I started to imagine the parks of this town, well kept and picturesque, the large houses on the outskirts, and the whole place surrounded by hills.
It felt as if the town belonged to February. Not the dreariness we usually associate with February, but those bright, clear February days that seem almost a season in themselves. It felt like late morning too - even though it was the afternoon, and this new town outside the window came with a sudden feeling of triumph, or euphoria, as in the acccomplishment of some long strived for goal.
I could imagine coffees in quiet cafes, the burden of winter falling away, that fresh late winter sky... walking unknown streets having risen early from sleep, and the water of that river, splitting the city, snaking toward the wide sea and across the sandy beach (Brighton's beach is pebbled.)
Hotels and an antique shop, a harbour full of fishing boats and nets, wooden boards forming walkways across the water, the masts of boats click-clacking in the wind.
The new town out of the window became quite real to me, accompanied by a curious feeling of familiarity and intimacy, almost nostalgia.
By the time I met Em outside, Brighton had reverted to its old, well lived in identity, but I think about that new town now, at night, with street lamps shining, and the parks and the river plunged into a comforting darkness.
I wonder if I went there now, to that fourth floor window, if this new town would still exist?