Shadesters: They're Out There.

Okay, so there are two routes to get home from the tube station: the creepy route, and the semi-populated and therefore non-creepy route (which takes a little longer).

Wisely, I took the semi-creepy one tonight. I stop by the stale, icky corner convenience store for a couple of cold DCs (that's Diet Coke to you and me), and as I give me coins to the man behind the counter, I realize the guy has the BIGGEST COKE NAIL I've ever seen. I was shaded out beyond belief.

As if slinking through the rows of expired, no-name, dust-covered, dented cans weren't enough to make your skin crawl, my little paws were subjected to the sharp crescent shape of this man's filthy, dirt-encrusted fingernail as he pressed the five pence into my palm. Uhh, keep it bro.

Walking out, mildly freaked, I nearly bump into some sort of drug addict leaning over holding a Selfridges bag (huh?) and muttering to me with bloodshot eyes.

Hurrying down the street up to my flat, I see a young man skulking about the nearby apartment block wearing a hoodie (covering his entire face) and sweatpants sagged down to his knees. Though he could have been Beaver Cleaver under there, I was a little freaked out. Can somebody tell the youths that they scare the bejesus out of people when they sport that look and that strut on dark streets at night when there's only one young lady present? Give me a break.

Thank God I didn't take the creepy route tonight.