You’re watching me. I can see that you’re watching me. I saw you the moment I stepped on the train. The puzzle here isn’t necessarily that I know that you’re watching me, but that you know that I know. What is it about me that makes you so interested? Is it my hair? I did just have it cut recently. When was that? Tuesday? Is it the way I walk? I have a slight limp on my left foot from slipping on the ice just this morning. Perhaps it’s my eyes. Yes, my eyes. I get complimented all day long on my eyes. They are grey if you must know. No, I do not believe it is any of those things. I get a sense that you are watching me because you are following me. Yes, you were there when I came out of my apartment this morning on my way uptown. You watched me as I entered the bookshop for some light holiday reading. You followed me too close as I entered the parking garage. I heard the door open and close while I was walking up the stairwell. Was that you? Of course it was. You saw me enter her apartment. Then you watched as I left and followed me here to the train station. But what you didn’t see, my friend, is what I did to her; while she slept. After I sliced her from from her neck to her ribcage, I took her eyes. I fed them to the pigeons outside her window. She was watching me as well. But not any longer. So, my friend, my advice to you is this. Keep watching me.
