‘ you know.. i don’t think i’ve ever seen you around here. ‘ it’s not hard to know when someone else is afflicted like he is. sometimes it takes him a while, but having them step into his shop, his turf.. that bothered him slightly.

It was a slow week -- much like the week before, and the one before that (come to think of it, these past six months had been the exact opposite of fast-paced). The one cafe owner on the block who still found Dirk’s presence in their establishment tolerable, had finally given into capitalist pressures and threatened to have him ejected out of the restaurant on account of several month’s worth of unpaid bills. And so Dirk found himself, once again out on the street, with nothing to do. 

Just when he was about to throw in the towel and head back home for a quick nap (noon was as good a time as any other to indulge in some gentle slumber), he decided to tighten his figurative belt and look for some cases, or at the very least find some alternate entertainment.

That’s how he came to be in this area, following a woman who looked like she knew where she was headed -- because that is the idea behind zen navigation. Realizing a little too late that she might find her new shadow unwelcome, he decided to introduce himself and explain himself. 

With this intention, Dirk stepped in front of the woman, a friendly (he hoped) smile on his face, “Madam, I realize you might be wondering the reason why I’ve been following you for the greater part of last fifteen or so minutes -- I’m a holistic detective,” however, that wasn’t explanation enough, so he elaborated further, “you see, one of my techniques involves following someone who looks like they know where they are headed and trust that the universe will eventually take me where I need to be.”

a love letter from Erik!! || @scriittore 

Monsieur Wordsworth, 

I extend my gratitude for the invitation to your wedding. Congratulations, Monsieur — I do hope married life will prove to be most pleasant for you and your bride. However, I write this to reply that I must decline. Public gatherings are ones I wish to avoid, you understand. 

Regards and well wishes, 

Erik 

                                             … ….. ……. … ….. …. ………..

           ( hastily scribbled as an afterthought; he has indulged in some wine                  and morphine, and has ripped the neatly folded letter open ) 

Why are you getting married? It is so quick, so sudden. Your interest in my mask was unexpected — jarring, almost — but it was new. Nobody has taken an interest, before. But then you had to meet Christine, and of course, you fell in love with her. Anyone would fall in love with her, for she is kind and gracious and everything a man wishes in his companion. But we — I thought we had developed something. I cannot put a name to it, but there was something. You are charming, the most idiotic man I have ever come across, and I… I suppose I was mistaken. 

    Everett’s sitting in tall wilted cattails with an orange cat curled up in the grass, his legs crossed as he studies the sleeping animal with the intensity of a chemist. He pokes the soft pink flesh of its paws and when he sees the woman pass through a bracket of oak trees, he dreams she’s some ghostly nightcreature with pallid skin and the porcelain slope of a neck, pretty and regal. 

     He follows her like a feline, slinking through the tall grass, and he wonders where she’s going. Probably the string of cafes that dot past the treeline, a soft orange glow of buildings from warm lights turned on for the night. He feels bad leaving Cat but he’s grown bored of it. He nudges his face against the woman’s ankle when he catches up to her.