I love to people-watch. Just sit somewhere in a bustling public setting, sipping a latte, and watch people go about their business. I have such fun picking up on snippits of conversation and wondering what was said before. There aren't many characters that stand out in the crowds of people that pass by in waves like the ocean. When someoen catches my interest, I often get up and walk behind them for a minute or two; I never want to seem like a stalker, just satisfy a burning curiosity.
             I remember one character who I could have watched for hours, the way one might stare at an abstract painting, forever unable to decipher it. It was a boy, college age, I imagined. I first spotted him sauntering down the main corridor of a shopping mall. He was tall and skinny, with a rockstar's posture and swagger. Draped around his shoulders was a black trenchcoat that brushed the floor with his every step, and left open in the front to show a torn red t-shirt, black fishnet underneath, and heavy black jeans, laden with chains from a number of straps and buckles. His skin was pale, his hair long and shining jet black.
             All this dress seemed rather insensible, to say the least; it was at least 85 degrees outside, and the mall certainly wasn't air-conditioned enough to warrent such attire. Even with simple functionality aside, he looked like a freak, like one of those young kids I see on the television, screaming about darkness and drugs and sex and various acts of violence. That type doesn't come around small towns like this one, and all this set me in my determination to observe this strange stranger to the best of my abilities.
             He walked by with the scent of ciggarettes wafting behind him, long after he passed me. I wrinkled my nose, watching as he turned abruptly into a clothing store not far from me. My first impression of this kid told me that he was no good, and so I watched him now out of a mix of curiosity and now suspicion that he wo...