Once upon a time, I was stalked by a mad artist.

Friday mornings were when my stalker would strike. I’d find them on my front porch, usually just sitting on the doormat, strange art projects which clearly had some work put into them. I remember one included a cassette tape with a recording of PJ Harvey’s “Rid of Me”, which broadened my musical horizons a bit.

Once it was a cloth pouch held together by straight pins with interesting things taped to it and a lock of hair inside. Yesterday I found the hair behind my dresser, where it had probably fallen years ago, slowly pushed off the edge by encroaching clutter. It was filled with dust, brittle and breaking from the hot summers in an old house, and the rubber band was rotting away. I took a photo and felt strangely sad as I threw it away, thinking of a time in my life when beautiful things happened mysteriously.