So this guy comes in to Darwin's today and brings his stuff to the till and stares at me as I'm ringing it up.

"Rosemary," he says, as if he's known me forever, even though I don't know him and only vaguely recognize him from seeing him on the street and have no idea how he got my name, "do you want to volunteer for Performarch? There's a meeting next Tuesday."

So I'm like, "Yeah, that sounds like fun. Sure. I'll come to this meeting."

And he's like (while still staring at me), "Okay, the meeting it at such-and-such a place on Tuesday at such-and-such a time. It's my apartment."

And off he goes.

And I'm like *eeeeeeeeek*. His apartment. This isn't a high profile performing arts thing, I don't think, and he knew my name, and everything.

But then again, he stares at everyone when he talks to them (or when they're ringing up his litre of homo milk).

So I'm not *too* worried.

But it's kind of creepy all the same.

I think I'll go to this so called 'meeting', but I'll be sure to wear my leg sheath and my bodice knife and maybe, if my pockets are deep enough, I'll carry one of my bigger blades.

You know, just in case.

.

Rosie.

Before&After