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Semi-Professional Paparazzi

You may not believe it but the paparazzi struck again.  This time a professional, well a semi-professional, he has a business card (see above.)  I met Ken walking to the subway, one morning.  Morning punctuality is not a skill I will ever lay claim to, so I was rushing as always.  I was on the home stretch and in real danger of being on time and that’s when Ken’s SUV rolled up on me.  His car pulled up right next to me, but I kept moving with my head forward giving him the sideeye to check his distance.  (No one is going to make a Lifetime movie about me.)  Ken leaned out of his window, but I kept walking without acknowledging him.  Ken slowed down some more and started yelling Hey, Hey.  I kept my pace up and refused to look directly at him.
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My Paparazzi

Occasionally random people decide they must have a picture of me. It feels like I am being followed by paparazzi.  They appear out of nowhere with their phones, sometimes hiding behind poles, sometimes blatantly flashing in my face.  I assume they need the photos to show their friends, because I am not famous (yet.)  I don’t understand the compulsion to take pictures of me getting toilet paper at Walgreens or looking haggard on the subway.  But as my mother always says, there is no accounting for taste.
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