Picking up my pace, trying not to run, but rushing to get safely back home – I glance over my shoulder to see if anything is behind me.  I am freaked out.  Paranoid.  Skittish.  I’m not looking for otherworldly critters or anything, I’m worried I might get arrested or -- at best -- confronted by a pissed off neighbor.  I’ve been skulking around my neighborhood at odd hours and spending minutes at a time spinning in front of strangers’ homes, occasionally taking pictures.  I should be put in the slammer just based on appearances.  But really, I’ve just been playing The Hidden and hating every minute.