Running an errand in Greeves Street, St Kilda, I slow my car to look at street numbers. A blonde woman in a short black ruffle skirt mistakes me for a potential client.
Walking back to my car from the errand, a balding man in a hotted up, lowered, shiny red ute mistakes me for a potential worker.
Back in my car I sit a moment and watch as the two of them find each other, she waving him over like an old friend, he making sure his car is locked.
They adjourn together up an alley way, I am curious as to where they are going – a house, back yard, secluded garage?
I consider following, to add the final touch of resolution to my story. But common sense kicks in. I am not Trixie Belden, there is no mystery to be solved, nothing to be gained.
My minor part in this case of mistaken identity has been played. I drive away.