My hands were
sweating. I don’t know why, but they
were.
My eyes moved over the
text massage again and again, repeating the short, three-word phrase in my
mind.
“I’m watching you.”
There was no phone number
connected to the message. Unknown.
Unknown.
I tried to respond, but the message wouldn’t go through. Was it a joke? It had to be a joke. Right? I clicked out of the message, the sound of the EL train arriving drawing my focus onto the platform.
Even as I slid the phone
into my pocket, as I tried to push the message out of my mind, my palms
continued to sweat.
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