Across the street a man stands in his window and stares at me.
His shirt is pulled up around his nipples and with one hand he wipes the glass.
By accident I lock my eyes with his; its hard not to. He stares deep into me.
My curtains twitch as I try to shut them without averting my gaze, but they snag. I blush, and curse in my mind.
I’m confused and disturbed. What is he doing?
I’ve passed him a few times on the street. Each time was an uncomfortable conversation.
I’m sure he’s a serial killer.
I break myself away from the curtains and sit back down to work.
A few minutes pass then a firm bang repeats itself on my door.
My neighbour is no longer at his window.