This Doesn't Make Me A Stalker

I had to walk to the store today, I just had to. The sun was mocking me through my window, screaming for me to bask in it.
As I reached a crosswalk, while waiting for the hand to turn into a person, the guy in front of me, gave me a quick glance and a half smile. As we began walking, I normally would have kept my eyes to the ground, so as not to seem creepy, in case this guy had eyes in the back of his head. But today, I happened to stare as I strolled. He had a steady stride while listening to his iPod through his old school headphones. The thick, black rope of a leash was coiled around his right hand several times, leading to the neck of his faithful black lab; while an iced mocha in a clear plastic cup was held from the top in his left. His shoes had tears and holes as if to say they had been put to good use, and his feet leaned slightly inward with each step, just like my Elise. I could see the tanline on the back of his calves as he kept his pace, with dark blue jeans, cut off at the knees. Mosquito bite on the back of his right calf. I hate mosquito bites. His keys were linked to his belt loop by a blue carabiner; the kind that says NOT FOR CLIMBING, just like my purple one. A single keychain - IRELAND - with the flag behind the writing, hung among his keys. Has he been to Ireland? Does he have Irish blood? Is it his dream place to visit? He wore a yellow T-shirt, and just barely under each sleeve were tattoos that poked out when his arms swayed. He also had a tattoo of a comic book-esque lightning bolt on his right forearm. Did his tats have meaning? Or were they purchased after one too many bottles of Beer? Did he regret getting any of them? His arms were thin, his elbows slightly darker than his arms; I could see a vein going down his left forearm. So many men have thick veins sticking out of their arms. His hair was shortly trimmed in back, slightly longer in front; dark brown. The back, bottom part of his hair had a hardly noticeable knick in it, almost as if the razor had been knocked while trimming. I couldn't tell if it was a hairdresser mistake, or just his hairline. His sideburns were more like Wolverine chops, but not quite as thick.
After my three blocks of observing, he finally led his dog right, down Park Avenue. I continued gaily forward and wondered if he turned to get away from his potential stalker, or if his destination truly lay down Park Avenue. I'll never know. And I'll most likely never see him again. But I'm glad I took notice; it made my walk quicker and more interesting. It gave my brain a chance to ask questions and imagine possible answers. I hope to take such intense interest in everything put before me from now on. I'm sure life will become more colorful.
-Sam