i was walking down a stretch of road in my local neighborhood the other day, when a large man who was raking leaves on his front lawn saw me, and asked, who I was
I at first ignored him and kept walking, minding my own business
but the man wouldn’t stop
he followed me down the block, with the rake in his hand, and his face turning red
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I’m talking to you buddy. Where do you think you’re going?”
I stopped and turned. I smiled. “I’m just walking around the block,” I said. “It’s a nice day.”
“Who are you, huh?”
“Where are you from?”
“I live just around the corner.”
The man with his silver hair, and his cheeks still filling with blood, squinted at me.
“No,” he said. “Where are you really from?”
At this point, I knew there were two choices:
either, I keep walking and risk having the man call the police for whatever suspicions were building in his head,
I kept smiling, and edged close, my face close to his.
He glared. “What are you doing?” he said.
I whispered, “You’re my world,” and took his hand in mine.
He instantly blushed, but still tried to feign annoyance, although I could see it crumbling.
I told him how beautiful he looked, and how he must have lost weight recently.
He giggled. “Stop it,” he said, as his wife watched us from the front lawn, the leaves gathering, as I took his hands and we waltzed on the sidewalk.
My forehead started to bleed and drops fell on his eyelids.


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