Two cats no mouse/Or maybe just one mouse.

8p. Vermont Ave. Dusk.

I step out onto the street and walk to the crosswalk.  My car is a few blocks North, on Franklin.  As I settle into the crosswalk, there is a very beautiful woman standing there.  I notice immediately, as most straight men probably would, and most of what ensues is, in some fashion, helplessly calculated.

The walk signal turns and we walk.  We are neck and neck, a few feet lateral one another, but by the middle of the walk she takes the lead, or I give it to her, and I trail a few feet behind.  She slows up as she arrives on the other side, as if waiting to cross the adjacent street.  I need to do the same thing, but take it all in stride and without going on the sidewalk at all, I continue across the next street and begin walking North on Vermont.  As I round the corner to enter the next crosswalk, I come within a foot of her.  I get maybe a little too close, though this was unintentional.  Mostly, it was dictated by the design of the street.  As I cross, now alone, I wonder if her slowing up meant that she was going to come this way as well.  I don't want to look back, but I can't help but wonder if she is behind me.

I pass by Figaro and get to a small shop that has a window display.  I figure if I pretend to look at something in these windows I can also glance behind me to see if she is there.  She's There. Still making her way through the Figaro crowd.  She's wearing a white shirt with loose fitting light blue jeans and sunglasses.  She has Olive skin.  

I have no intention of talking to her.  I don't even want to necessarily, but there is a very real sensation forcing my mind onto her.  I don't understand it, but to disobey it would feel almost dirty.  I don't know what it wants.

I continue walking, past skylight books, past the movie theater and across Russel to Fred 62.  I gently glance back again and she's still there.  What are you doing. Just go to your car!  The problem is that even if I wanted to say something, I don't really have anything to say, and even less of a reason to say something. Hi, I saw you walking and have been watching you all this time, you know with my mind, and I think you're attractive.  I'm Matt.

I continue up the block, keeping occasional checks on her.  The space between us remains remarkably equidistant - like she's making sure to keep her distance. 

I cross over Franklin.  My car is a half block to the east now, but as I arrive on the other side, I notice a collection of used books sitting on a ledge.  I glance back and notice my girl, still back there, waiting to cross.  If I stay right here she's going to come this way.  The books are terrible.  It's almost embarrassing to be looking at them.  "How to live your life like a PRO", "Biology for Gamers", "Smile, its nice!".  I feel her getting closer and keep her distance in the corner of my awareness.  Her foot steps get louder.  She's wearing sandals.  And as she passes behind me, her sounds goes silent.  Is she standing behind me?  Is she going to confront me for watching her? I'm in the eye of the storm. Absence.  I slowly turn around, but she's not there.  She's still walking, of course, continuing up the street, away from me, and with each step, the sensation, the need to look thins out until she becomes just another normal.