Earlier this week, I was out being glamorous and signing autographs for big-breasted orphans or whatever. When that grew tiresome, I decided to walk home, which naturally saw me leaving through an alley full of dumpsters. As I crept out of the squalid darkness onto a street populated by you surface dwellers, I noticed a girl walking past and she noticed me, and thus began an awkward moment that extended into a solid 15-minute walk.
I got onto the sidewalk maybe five paces behind this girl, a slight blonde of about 20 whom I probably outweighed by 50 pounds and outcreeped by about four days' worth of not shaving. She walked, I walked. She walked, I walked. She very slightly looked behind her, I walked. She took a left onto a shortcut through a field, and I sighed, since that was the same way I was going.
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As I followed her along a makeshift path through a wide-open and unkempt field, both of us getting further and further away from anyone who would find her body, I started to worry that she was worrying about me following her. In fact, I became convinced that with every step, she was sure that I was opening a small jar of capers in my pocket that I would use to garnish her eyeballs and spleen when I ate them behind a rock whilst masturbating sometime in the next half hour.