He knocked on my window. Again.
He sat there. Eating his ice sickle. Rotating it between his tiny paws. Biting the edges to maintain some kind of shape.
Looking. Through my blinds. At me.
I grab my phone. But this time, he doesn’t move.
We lock eyes. And, instead of calling the cops, I take a few photos.
He’s such a little creep! But, I can’t hate him for being who he is.