Notes

Ben’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard of his laptop as he reread what he had just written. He took a deep breath, the ozone smell of the slowly overheating machine filling his nose before he sighed. Why did it always sound so trite when he tried to write about his life? He wanted to write something that was different and real, but it always ended up sounding like the porn stories in his small stash of magazines.
Next time he swore to write with old fashioned pen and paper. At least then he could enjoy crumpling the displeasing results before throwing them in a little metal trashcan, like they always did on TV. The most Ben could do was to carefully save his document, close the program, and drag the file to the recycle bin. As he right-clicked to empty the bin, he wondered if the problem wasn’t that he couldn’t write, but that the porn stories in his magazines were just really well-written. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t deleted it when the clock in the bottom right-hand corner caught his eye. Ten minutes until seven. Almost time for Mr. Blue Shoes to go jogging.
Ben struggled with himself for a moment. Part of him recognized just how creepy his behavior was. He wasn’t sure if it qualified as stalking, but it was dangerously close. But what else was there to do? Writing hadn’t worked and there was nothing on TV but summer reruns. What harm was there in an innocent stroll through the neighborhood, and if he happened to see Mr. Blue Shoes, then so be it.
Switching off his laptop, Ben tried to remember the last time he had done this. Was it yesterday? Surely it was the day before. How many times this week already? Since they appeared to be about the same age, Ben was sure that Mr. Blue Shoes would be attending his high school and he didn’t want to be obvious. Being out at school led to enough taunting without the added ridicule of being criminally desperate.