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He was being watched - that he understood without a modicum of doubt. There were eyes that lingered as he crossed the street with his hands jammed in his pockets, eyes that trailed over his person as if he had understood that there was something about him that needed careful and close scrutiny. There was something that made him feel as if he were nothing more than a creature that was confined to a glass box, ever-watched and granted only the highest suspicion.

The truth was that he was expecting this for some time; but the truth also remained that he had no idea why he was worthy of such observation. He had done nothing illegal in the least and had kept himself without complications.

And yet there was a pair of eyes gazing at him from the shadows; for what cause? For what purpose would one choose to look upon him as if he knew all of the answers to the questions that mattered?

The lost seeking the lost; how terribly fitting.

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