WNDR6670

The Man Who Watches

Every night at 10 PM, the man in the window across the alley is already there — red lamp burning, eyes fixed on your floor-to-ceiling glass wall like you are the only thing worth watching in this city. You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself that three weeks ago. Tonight, you look up from your spreadsheet and he is holding a sign against the glass — four words, handwritten in black marker — and your blood runs cold because he knows your name.