This is Murphy. Or possibly The Murphy.
Once, long before we met, Blogreader, I was coaxed out of my apartment by a small group of Workers. Together, we attended a professional sporting event. It was a baseball match between the Chicago White Sox and some other group of baseball players.
Soon after taking our seats, we noticed Murphy. He was hard to miss, so engrossed was he with noticing us. He stared at me specifically for much of the first segment of the game, but when I switched seats, I noticed that he kept his attention on the seat I had taken. This made me feel abandoned.
We named him Murphy, as this was what was printed on the back of his shirt. Of course, if his name was actually Murphy, then this was probably also his father's name, and the father never once turned around to confront us as we talked about the weird boy who was staring at us.
By the time we fled our seats in the face of a strong, sudden spring storm, we had created a full story of Murphy. He could, for instance, see into your very soul. He knew every thing you had ever done wrong. He could start fires with his mind, and control the weather. We blamed him for the storm, for the balance of the score in the opposing team's favor, for receding hairlines, relationship problems, poor quality ballpark food, for anything we could think of. It was very cathartic. For his part, The Murphy never once spoke to us or acknowledged in any way that we might have noticed him as well.
Several months later, as I was roaming the streets of London, I stopped by my hotel and checked my email. Enclosed I found this, from Micah:
He haunts us still.
All Phoctober posts from this site.
Sognatrice on dark and light.
Absolute Vanilla shows us the fungus among us.
Scarlett gets leafy.
Matthew hits the Appalachian Trail.
Worldly Minx shows us her front gate.
Kyklops gets a puppy, forgets to be cool.
Signs gets found in the supermarket.
It isn't too late to join the fun. Just do a photo post, mention Phoctober, and come and tell me about it in the comments.