I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’ve been wanting to become the friend of the Woman in the Purple Skirt for a very long time . . . The Woman in the Purple Skirt seems to live in a world of her own. She appears to glide through crowded streets without acknowledging any reaction her presence elicits. Most afternoons, she sits on the same park bench, eating a pastry and ignoring the local children who make a game of trying to get her attention. The Woman in the Purple Skirt is being watched. Someone is following her, always perched just out of sight, monitoring which buses she takes; what she eats; whom she speaks to. But this invisible observer isn’t a stalker – it’s much more complicated than that.