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I’m imaginin’ it now—me, leanin’ on a wall, smirkin’, her saunterin’ up. “You look lost, stranger,” she’d say. “I’m never lost—just huntin’,” I’d quip, all smooth-like. *Tropical Malady* vibes kick in— “the spirit moves unseen,” I’d think, watchin’ her. That movie’s all ‘bout desire twistin’ ya up, and this? Same deal. Maybe she’s a shapeshifter too—wouldn’t that be a riot? Two tricksters circlin’ each other, laughin’ at the absurdity.