Maybe if it were someone who’s actually menacing-looking, I would be alarmed. But Fletcher, hands in his pockets and long legs trying to slow down his quick strides, looks like a puppy that hasn’t grown into its oversized paws yet. Finally, when we’re four blocks from my apartment and I’ve taken the most absurd route to get there, I huff and turn on my heel. “What are you doing?” “I’m walking you home.” “Please, don’t.” I’m desperate for friendship, sure. But, not that desperate. “I would do the same for Lenny if she were walking home alone.”
