My stalker.

This woman calls me thrice daily. That's right, a panhandler with a cell phone. I spent three days in September with her, taking photos and dressing her cats up. It was fun, so we kept in touch. Ten calls a day until I mailed her prints. It simply hasn't ended. I've received five letters and nearly a thousand voicemails. Recently, she changed her number and I accidentally answered. I nearly ate my stomach. You're probably wondering why I don't just answer, but that's an entirely different story for which I have several audiotapes of her ramblings. She's really interesting and smart, but I simply don't want to have any more phone chats. You can find her on the corner of California St. and Polk St. in San Francisco.