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.
Brian Kelly Irons 