double-edged stalk.

we were walking up to the apartment from the parking lot, chatting as we do (mainly saying “why? why do we have to climb more stairs?”) at the end of our night, a route that takes us past our downstairs neighbors’ bathroom window.

i noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that the light was on and that the window was partially cracked, but didn’t think a thing of it since it’s a lovely spring-like night in florida.

that is until my roommate called my attention–in a kind of hushed horror–to the GUY THAT WAS CROUCHED AND PEERING AT US FROM THAT CRACK.

her hushed tones got progressively louder and more indignant as we passed, containing the words creepy and police and restraining order in quick succession. i’ll admit. it was so weird. he was hunched down to look at us through the inch-wide margin, his fingers grasped around the sill.

weird, yes. definitely. creepy. possibly, yeah, although it’s very clear that this guy isn’t going to do anything. we’ve lived here for more than six months, as have they, and the closest we’ve ever gotten to any contact are these creepy stalker-like staring encounters.

but, really, it’s more sad than anything. i think…wow. am i really more entertaining than univision or a nice spanish language dance track or a corona? i’m not being stereotypical here–we know that’s what they enjoy, since they enjoy them at loud volumes on saturday mornings and frequently outdoors.

but really? me walking upstairs is the highlight of your night?that’s just sad. and pathetically flattering.

i definitely need a life. and perhaps some pepper spray.

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