For over two hours he has been sitting cross-legged on the grass directly opposite my lounge window. From the sofa, I see that he looks up intermittently and glances over, straight at me. His eyes bore into me and I feel naked. Wearing a blue anorak, grubby trousers, and dirty workman’s boots, he munches his sandwiches, sips his flask of tea, rolls a cigarette and then takes out a pad and pen. I knew it: I am being watched by a stranger. But then the RAC van pulls up and he jumps up and dashes over to greet the driver.
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