Four Painful Years

Devise some way to steal luca's hat next time she almost runs you over. She must learn her actions have hat threatening repercussions.

You don’t know. She’s kind of a total thug, and has proven it on more than one occasion. There’s no telling how she’d react if her beloved hat were jacked up right off her head. You wonder if she’s the type to punch a dying lady in the face? You decide you’re not in a hurry to find out. Besides, she lives in your apartment on the same floor. She knows where you live.

The look on that chick’s face, though...

>As if you're gonna do anything other than go to the pharmacy.

Well excuse you, yourself! Maybe you wanted to grab a drink from the water fountain or rescue your veggie wrap from the break room fridge before you left, ever think about that? Let’s save the internal snark-fest for later when you’re lying in bed in excruciating pain with no one to vent to!

You leave out the front door. Maxwell’s request still rings in your ears. What to do, what to do… You suppose you could ask the other guys later, since they’re sort of the only people you really talk to. Then again, you know what they’d say.

Mustafa would take the diplomatic route and advise you to stay as a favor to a friend. He’d call it “the right thing to do.”

Trent would tell you that you’ve only known the guy for a couple years at most and that you don’t owe him anything. And to an extent, he’d be correct.

Luca would shrug and tell you to hook up with him while you still have the chance.

All valid points you guess…

You round the intersection and proceed towards the pharmacy, but you only make it a few feet past the corner when something stops you in your tracks. About thirty feet down the sidewalk stands a familiar figure, hunched and still, cloaked in the shade of a nearby tree. At first you think it might be Mustafa, headed out to the corner store for break, or something. Certainly tall enough… You only realize who it is when they turn to look over their shoulder, allowing you to glimpse those piercing eyes behind a curtain of unkempt hair.

It’s your neighbor. The disturbing old man from across the road.

You turn around out of reflex and pretend like you hadn’t seen him. You just know he’s staring at you again, you can feel his eyes burrowing into your back. How can someone simply looking at you affect you like this? You hate it!

In a fit of anxiety, you choose to be anywhere but here. Sure, he may be as harmless as everyone says he is, misunderstood even, but you don’t care. He gives you the creeps.

What do you do?