"Uh, you want a cup of tea or orange juice or something while I get them?" I am very hospitable, you see.

"Yes, please," he said. "Whatever you wish to give me." Agreeable chappie. I was so flustered at the closeness of the man being in my kitchen where there is usually no one but me, I didn't know where to look or what to do with myself. I was a mess, and moved and spoke like a zombie being controlled by an unseen master.

"The tea is still warm. Will that do?" He nodded docilely, so I positioned him sitting at the kitchen table, where he took tea with the proffered milk and sugar, and sat complacently sipping as I stepped hastily out of the room.

I forced myself to breathe as I fetched the clothes, packing down the nervous energy bubbling up inside me like a barista hastily tamping the coffee grounds on a busy morning. To steady itself, my mind envisioned the meager amount of plastic separating the stranger's bare ass from my cheap kitchen chairs. I giggled like a madwoman, and was impressed with myself for feeling so deranged at such a simple thought.

I tried not to seem rushed and goofy when I came back to the kitchen, so I walked with deliberate slowness, cool and indifferent, oh yeah. I don't give a damn that you're naked in my house. I don't give a damn about anything.

"Here they are. They're clean," I assured him. I placed the tidy bundle (which I had intentionally folded all tidy like so he might be impressed with my tidiness and fall madly in love with me and love me right because I'm such a tidy and wonderful girl who folds clothes tidily) on the kitchen table.

He smiled at me just as sweet as sugar and said, "Thank you. I needed clothes." He kept on smiling and sipped his tea, smiling in his cup and looking at me, smiling. "I really like this. It's sweet!"

"Good," I said. "So," and here I began to get stern and serious, "how did you happen upon my property?" Despite being curious about this pretty find, and happy to have a new toy to play with, I was pissed at having anyone wandering on my land with no regard to ownership. Not that I am obsessed with ownership, but I am keen on privacy, god damn it.

He clutched his cup to his chest and said, "I came here for you. I know you. You know me, too." He took another swallow and it occurred to me that my timing for the inquisition was bad, because I hadn't given him the chance to get dressed, and now it would be awkward to make a break in this screwed up conversation to let him put the clothes on.

"How do you know me? Who are you?" It was an unoriginal response, I know, but I had forgotten to take my witty pill that morning.

"I will show you." He pushed his chair back and stood firmly, and reached his hand out to me, his other holding up his bag.

The End

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