Your stalker sits in the far corner of the bar, watching you as you treat yourself to one two many drink. This is the moment he was waiting for, to approach you when you’re vulnerable. He looks down his phone, flipping through the photos he had taken of you throughout the night as he tried to muster up the courage to talk to you. He shove his phone into his pocket, takes the shot he was nursing all night, and finally walks up to you.

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”