Being Followed (Part II)

And returning to the character that had been following me. Most of all I did not want to have any additional complications. The whole matter of the cork I wanted to complete reasonably quickly, quietly and painlessly. So finally, for my own satisfaction I decided simply to game the character following me, besetting him with a mass of conflicting information so that from all this he would be completely confused in his greedy and dull brain.

I began to consider, what would be most associated with cork. The cork tree, as exotic flora, in our climate necessarily had to grow in a botanical garden. We made our way in that direction. Despite the fact that the garden found itself almost a half hour away by foot, I decided to walk the entire way there anyway. All the streets which our path took us through were by measure busy, the hour of the day also seemed appropriate. The sly dog following me was probably certain that I was not oriented to the situation. 

When we were approaching, the character stayed as if a little farther back. In turn I got myself into some idiotic conversation with an armed and dressed in a green uniform patrolwoman standing at the entry gate. I asked her about some two girls, who apparently lived in the free standing green four story apartment building that found itself across from us, between the gates to the garden and the cathedral. 

The patrolwoman, the same for that matter as me, did not have any clue about the girls, and I constantly pointed my hand towards this building. Eventually I made my way in its direction. In this apartment building lived my very good colleague Waskiewicz, for whom I had a certain plan. I was nervous only about whether he would be at home. He was. 

I told him I was being followed and discretely pointed out to him through the window the politely waiting for me dickhead, who stood gazing at the building gate. I needed help in finding something that would be reminiscent of a large package. From gray paper, string and some cardboard I made a box with Waskiewicz, who, nota bene, was a sculptor. 

It was a beautiful mock up of a package, the same as the one my invigilator saw me with yesterday when I fruitlessly searched for Anita. Soon I went back down, exciting the character waiting for me, and made my way back in the direction of the center of town. Eventually I saw a slowly approaching taxi and after five minutes I was already home. 

In the meantime the character following me, even though I escaped from right under his nose, was left with the strong impression that he had garnered already a mass of information, which, when he arranged it all together into a logical whole, would allow him shortly to win the complete support of every local producer of these modern lady’s cork shoes.