I first saw him in a laurel hedge. Just his face, and a camera that barely fit in his hand.

Next he snapped a photo of me from the alley. Then from behind a shelf at the drug store. I got on a bus and left him behind, or so I thought. There he was, behind the gladioli at a florist. The smell of refrigerated roses infused the air around us.

I plucked the camera from his hand and dashed it against the polished concrete floor. He pulled out another camera and took a picture of my foot grinding the pieces.

I turned my leg so he could capture my best angle.

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