I wish I could say I didn't really think it was stalking but I know it was. It was a habit I learned at a young age from a friend of mine. Every night since she got her driver's license we would get into her parent's giant blue Lincoln we gave the very original nickname of "The Boat" and drove across town, up Willis Street and then a left (or was it a right?) and then a slow drive by of the house of the boy she had a crush on. A boy who she could look at but never touch. I don't know what satisfaction she gained driving slowly by his house, I don't even know if she had a way of knowing whether he was inside or not but night after night, we drove and craned our necks to look in the windows hoping to catch sight of what I'll never know.
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