No dry toast: it’s not stalking

Mel Forest

 The other day as I browsed through Facebook, I realized that I went from looking at my friend’s profile page to unintentionally stalking a guy named Karl. Karl is a single libertarian from Oregon who loves Bob Dylan, used books, nutella and “The Office.” With only one friend in common, I considered the creepiness of my perusal through my newfound soul mate’s photos. Then it hit me: I had in fact become a stage-two stalker.