Yesterday, I left work rather late – when I finally stepped out of the building the sun had already set. I shoved my earphones in and turned up the volume to The Script, and set off on my walk home. Being in the corporate district of the city, it’s generally quite safe, filled with posh restaurants, bars and harmless yuppies. It’s when I cross the pedestrian bridge into the nightclub district that I tend to be more alert than usual.

Instead, as I made my way down the sidewalk, I walked past a fellow who looked about Papa’s age, dressed in Friday smart-casual attire, holding a leather folder in his hands. He said something as we passed but with Breakeven playing at full blast, I had no idea what he said. I turned back to give him a strange look, wondering if I’d interviewed him before or worked in the same company. I walked a few paces to the side of the street, waiting for the red man to turn green. I turned back and he was still standing there, looking at me. I rolled my eyes, and walked back to him.

Big freaking mistake.

Me: Do I know you?

Him: No, do you want to?

Me: NO!

Thankfully the red man turned green and I quickly crossed the road, wondering what the hell that was all about. I practically ran all the way after that, worried he might have followed me.

Let’s not even go there with getting hit on at tango lessons.