On my way through the park, I see a familiar figure heading in the opposite direction. He shambles, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. His hair and beard are wild and ragged as the hem of his overcoat.
I change my course somewhat to interest his. He looks up as I approach, a patient mix of puzzlement and annoyance creasing his brow.
“Mr. Moore? I am sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say thank you. Your work has meant a great deal to me.”
He nods politely and offers his hand, still walking.
As I shake it, he gives me a quick look. “Have we met before?”
I shake my head. “No sir, but I sent you one of my books a number of months ago. My photo is on the back.”
“Did you?” He frowns, studying me. Then he shakes his head.
“It was called Assam & Darjeeling, ” I offer.
His shrug is eloquent and he turns to continue on. “Nice meeting you.”
“It had a pomegranate on the cover,” I call after him, realizing that I have gone — in his eyes — from Polite Reader to Insane Fanboy Stalker in about ten seconds.
He waves a hand over his shoulder, picking up his pace.
I watch him go.