The Creep

There is a fine line between casually observing others around you (which I do all the time and which I love to do - we are all very fascinating) and that point where it becomes creepy, where the gaze lingers just a bit too long, the eyes scanning everyone in the train up and down then up again, slowly taking in whatever is arousing your curiosity about them.

The older man leaned against the subway door - he looked left over from the Eighties, his hair out of date, too poofy, the bushy moustache no longer in style. His suit was quite elegant and it fit him well and he looked as if he was headed to a meeting of some sort or an interview, just well groomed enough to suggest he had some money, that he wasn't just spiffing it up for the occasion. I imagined he was new to this world or planet and placed here to gather data and this was the disguise they gave him, "to blend in". He turned his head to the left, his eyes not missing a body, then to the right in the same way, and his face stayed impassive, as if he was merely curious about what he had been sent here to see, our human ways, our culture, our way of dressing, of doing our hair. "I must observe them in order to become one of them", he must be thinking.

But then his gaze would rest far too long one of the women and then it was no longer a mystery. The lingering looks had become weird, bordering on offensive and I find myself irritated by him and wanting to ask him to knock it off. He now seemed predatory; you could imagine him having dark thoughts and ideas of what he would do if only...if only...