So, I just got home from seeing the new Batman, and of course the Joker dazzled me, but in a more psychological way, so I figured I'd make this sorta like my reaction or something. I dunno, that's a horrendous summary, but it's the best phrasing I can muster. The title is a line from a song called "Strangers" by The Kinks that I just found in the attempts for a random song lyric in relation to strangers ("We Might As Well Be Stranger" by Keane and "Mistaken for Strangers" by The National didn't work so well), and all the lyrics seemed applicable enough that I'll probably use them later. But enough rambling! Enjoy!

The sun was dying in the sky as she walked alone down the sidewalk, the streetlamps spilling golden blood onto the concrete in her wake, some flickering from lack of attention and dying fuses. She cast an unseeing glance around her before turning right, into the park, her shortcut to home. True, she'd always been reprimanded for going through such an untrustworthy area at such an hour by herself, but she figured she'd survived this long she could make a few trips more. Scarcely did she pass anyone as she went, just a woman jogging with her rottweiler puppy, hand wrapped tightly in the leash to betray her mistrust in the locale.

The path was still vacant by the time she walked to the pond, although when she looked out at the water noticed a figure crouched down by the waterside, a stack of some sort of rods at his side, and as she continued to watch saw they were dropping them into the water, wedging them into the mud and silt just below the tide line, so they could not be seen. Coming nearer she could take in the figure properly, seeing them to be wearing a curious maroon tailcoat warmed by the street lights, the edges laid out flat and crinkled behind them, giving them the odd sort of aura of someone watching, someone searching. Seeing that they continued to drop in the rods with no indication of stopping she changed her road of direction and walked over to the figure, boots thudding softly on the pavement.

"Pardon me, but what exactly are you doing?" she asked the individual, and they whirled about in place, startled by her coming up to them, perhaps, and immediately she was taken aback as well. The figure looked to be a man, but he was wearing a thick layer of gaudy makeup, so she couldn't be completely sure. His face, all white with streaks of his normal skin showing through where he had wrinkles and laugh lines, with a sloppy and twisted line of red to portray a false wide grin. Black paint around his eyes gave the illusion of a sort of twisted animated skull, like only his eyes had rotted away with time.

"Why, I'm trying to spear some fish out of the pond, dear," he replied, a sort of breathy and nasally voice, his words sounding as if he weighed them with quick interest before dishing them out. Perhaps it was that or the occasional darts of his tongue between words that made him sound like someone else, not just another generic person or voice, but equally not.

"Fish don't live in there," she told him with a small laugh. "Kids throw firecrackers in there all the time, and the ones that survived the herons took off. Frogs is the best you'll get, and even that's a stretch."

"Yes, well, thanks for the pointer," he answered, turning back to the rods and pond as if flapping his hand at her to carry on like a good little girl. That tongue thing again. It was terribly distracting, but she just shook her head, brushing it off.

"Kids do swim in there, just so you know," she added, taking a few steps to indicate she was indeed carrying on her way.

He turned to look at her, a 'no duh' expression upon his face. "That's the point."

She shook her head again. "Whatever." With a little chuckle to herself she kept walking, but before she turned the corner again she called out once more, "By the way, totally dig the coat," but he paid her no attention, the only sound coming from him a breathless-sounding humming or singing. She rolled her eyes at him, spinning on her heel, then continued on her way back home.

The next morning, as she was eating her breakfast she was watching the early news, and just after the forecaster explained what the day's weather would be like handed it off to a newscaster, who started to explain how sharp metal rods had been found in the pond in the park, showing clips of interviews with citizens of how they felt that the park was no longer a safe place, and that whoever had done this was a seriously twisted individual before flashing up a phone number of who to call with information. Swallowing her bite of cereal she set her bowl aside and picked up her phone, punching in the number on the screen, holding to her ear and twisting a lock of her hair as she waited.

"Hello?"

"Hello, yes, I'm calling about information of the rods in the pond? I think I saw who did it."

"Can you give me a description?"

"Yeah, uh, he was wearing a purple tailcoat at the time, and he seemed to be wearing face paints sort of like a clown's, but they were all runny and splotchy and all."

For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line, a chuckle, then a sigh. "Ma'am, are you trying to be funny?"

"Uh, no," she replied slowly, confused.

"Because you've just described the man on the top of the police's wanted list," he said informatively. "So if it's not some punk teenager, then I'm afraid you're wasting your time," and with that he hung up the phone with a sharp click.

"Glad to be of service," she finished, looking dumbfounded at the phone before turning it off and returning it to its console. She shook her head, picking up her spoon to resume eating. They never listen to you when you try to speak and give you all ears when you have nothing to say.

So? Is it horrendous? Alright? Just plain weird? Let me know. Oh, and the metal rod thing is from something I saw on the news a while ago. Random, yes, but it oddly works. Thanks!!