‘I like to prowl ordinary places
and taste the people-
from a distance.’
– Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit
She loved her balcony; sunny during the day, sheltered from the winds in the evening, and not really overlooked.
Or so she thought.
Sometimes, she was aware of a prickling sensation along the back of her neck; a primitive warning that she was being watched despite feeling completely alone.
And she loved it…