strangers I begin to know

I promise, I am not a stalker. No one with my readily memorable features and carriage could do well as a stalker. But after a while of always watching, you start to get to know the habits of strangers.

There is a gentleman, with a head of vibrant silver and slate grey hair, who I see on regular occasion. I’ve never been particularly good at keeping a steady schedule, so it is not the situation of getting to recognise that one chap on your morning commute — no, I see him at odd hours, on strange street corners, in various parts of town. (Now I do sound like a stalker.)

Today I have ascertained that he does indeed live in my neighbourhood, and has a young teenage son (I’d say 13), whom I have also seen on various occasions. The kid has a pretty stellar sense of style. I’d classify it loosely as retrosexual-punk.

I think he works in west central London. Either near Euston station, or just south of it (on the Victoria Line?). His son is a percussionist, and plays in some student band–I think public (i.e. American ‘private’) school affiliated. Father and son have similarly shaped noses.

I think I have seen his wife and daughter, too. But that I am less sure of, it was early enough in my sightings of this gentleman my memory may be conflating two different contexts.

In any case, he seems like a rather pleasant chap.

The two just walked past together, looked like they were enjoying the sunny afternoon.

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~ by jeorgesmith on 23 April 2010.

2 Responses to “strangers I begin to know”

  1. Maybe *he’s* the stalker!

  2. I was just going to say that perhaps he is stalking YOU!
    Or maybe you both hang out in the same parts of town, being stylish and memorable in your own circles.

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