I suppose I can pinpoint exactly where my obsession started. She was dancing to 'Rebel Rebel' by Bowie in the living room, clad in only underwear with no care in the world. I couldn't help but be fixated on the way her lithe young body swayed and gyrated to the music.

I don't know how long I stood there just watching her. She was just meant to be another tenant, someone who helped me accumulate more wealth, one whom I could keep and eye on and my apartment due to the happy situation of our flats. But here I was watching her move deftly amongst her boxes full of her things ready to be unpacked. Her music wasn't particularly loud, it was just that it was a warm night, and everyone's windows were open, including mine, but it was loud enough for me to hear Bowie belt out his hits as she swung her hips and pulled comical facial expressions as she mimed the words.

I had watched other tenants before, but not like this, mostly because they had been boorish upper-class brats, who were still living of their parents by proxy. Going through the usual rebel acts of drinking and staying up late, and listening to that God-awful Drum and Bass. No, before her I was happy with checking in on my flat for a few minutes everyday taking a mental checklist of anything that was wrong, ensuring that nothing had been broken or vandalised. You see the window from my living room overlooked into the bedroom and living slash dining area of my other flat, something I had purposely ensured when I was purchasing somewhere to both live and rent out. You see I believe being pro active in ensuring an investment, nothing untoward was meant by my actions.

I should have felt like a perverted old man stood there watching her, but truth be told what I should have been feeling and what I actually felt were vastly different. She was unlike any girl I had ever socialised with – not that I condescended to fraternise with my tenants – or had ever wanted to socialise with. I knew her to be a philistine from her application, she had come from some God forsaken place up north, to try and make a proper life down here in London – well I would assume it was to make a better life, as I mentioned previously, I do not deign it necessary to even let them know I am their landlord – but the fact that she was there, dancing, in her underwear, to Bowie, something so irrevocably cool just oozed out of her.

I watched her rooms long after she had switched the light off and retired to bed, just stood there thinking about her like some lovesick teenager. I soon regained my faculties and resigned myself to treat her like any other tenant, or so that was what I tried to tell myself until I gave into my compulsion the next day whilst out to buy David Bowies greatest hits album.


I'm back, I know such a long time, short first chapter as usual, but please tell me what you think, this is just a feeler