Paranoid

I work. A lot.

I would work more if my office wasn't in a recessed corner of a building where there is no one really to know that I'm okay in there. There is the Italian chef at the restaurant a few doors down that is frequently at the window of his restaurant, watching my comings and goings.

When I leave, he comes out and asks me, "Are you going home?"
"Are you done working today?"
"See you tomorrow?"

I don't know whether to feel happy that there is one person who probably knows exactly when I'm in the building, especially since I come and go a lot, seemingly randomly, or just a bit creeped out.

I know I am jaded, and tend to think the worst about people's motivations. This is an occupational hazard in my career, although I was well-suited toward it before the work. That is one of the hazards of doing a lot of drugs:

Trust No Man. (or Woman.)

Hey, if nothing else, I am equal opportunity.