the stalker you know.

I'm siting in the gallery bar,  heels caught in the high stool bars, eyes apparently looking at the screen, yet, the in the ephemeral vision, my eyes are spy laser beams. The music is  a lullaby, plinketey pinkitey plonk. One might think I was a sculpture, a long asleep soul, a shell in a dress.
 But there's the catch my friend. I am watching. I can see you in the corner of my eye. Oh yes. I have seen you. I have seen you sashay for coffee and invite your best looking, middle age, perfumed females. You sat among them like the ceramic garden gnome, among healthy green moss, proudly decorated by it, framed by it, but of course superior. You have a red hat. What is some any day moss compared to the garden gnome?  You laughed those exaggerated loud laughs of  grey haired men which scare all the sparrows out of their nests. Drank the sparrows with milk froth instead of sugar, got them stuck in your teeth, and continued producing the loud , I'm here, I'm here, postulations.
Pity that all efforts hit the high walls as forcefully as moist air, and slid down it, in the form of un happy mildew, none was home.
The next day, you climbed the bicycle. A tourist. A bump in the street, oh what a surprise, to see you here. Ah was that, yes he, a big important person there , oh really?
Third day, you parked the bicycle, rather accidently, right next to the car, of the really big important person there. I passed you, on my way to the market, I bought a kilo of strawberries, and cucumbers, and duck fodder, my shoe strap broke, I tucked it in, walked very slowly along the heavily cogged streets, and saw you in the same, spot, next to the fucking bin,  next to a couple  giant house trash slightly dripping containers, egg shells , fish bones, the old slimy bean, you in your Hugo Boss starched shirt with both sleeves accurately rolled up to a perfect parallel, an hour later. Edged three to four meters closer to the dumpster. Not sure if the other part of the victimised dialoguer was the same, or a new  acquisition. They where surly not aware of their role as the deliberately low carrot content of imperfection next to you and the 24 carrot gold hand made spectacle frames, which hopefully sparkled in the light if looked at from the planned angle.
I nodded, to make you realise that I noticed you both times.
And you nodded , to acknowledge my presence, and send a dis-invitation.
 Do not disturb it said on your pink face, and leg mid air, one foot on the bicycle pedal as if you had just landed. Its a private booth, where I do things which are none of your business.
I would have forgotten it, bar being slightly bemused, had I not found your sentence in my laptop, the same one I sit behind, working, and well could I ignore you being right up in side it now? You had surreptitiously squeezed in to it, to participate in an art project, lets pretend ,and left your, little statement hoping it would be read. Some one had to, so I did, and woe thee, still not the right person.

Do you know a man by the name blah di blah, I finally asked the museum director at coffee . Yes. He replied surprised by my question. Well he is trying to catch you, he has been cycling around the museum for a whole week . Really? He is in town is he? Surprised the director exclaimed, well he does have my number, why does he not just call me?