He’s in the crowd somewhere, beside the lady with the grocery bags, behind the two middle-school girls sharing a pair of earbuds, a few steps ahead of George from down the street walking his dog. He ducks around lampposts and between parked cars where the sidewalk is blocked, never motionless, never breaking his stride. His progress through the city is relentless.
You ignore him, because deep down, you know he’s going to someone else’s office, or home, or table at the coffee shop. He’s coming for them, not you. You wouldn’t see him coming, if he was coming for you.
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