Sighted at the garage just outside of our apartment: Prince spoor.
It’s well-known that the artist formerly and currently known as Prince never takes off his clothes. Indeed, they aren’t clothes – they are colored weaving of his hair that grows into the shape of his unique couture. His fur is dyed by his army of “handlers” who are there to prevent him from snapping his tether and going on another blind, blood-soaked rampage (see “The Montreaux Incident,” July 18, 2009.)
Here Prince, while on his grazing trail, obviously stopped to scratch his back, divesting himself of the diverse ecosystem living on his skin. The itching must have been intense. The latch to the door snagged his hair and, perhaps startled by voices in the distance, he ran off, leaving some of his precious body hair behind.
Since it was past dinner time and leaning towards the evening, I was content to snap these pictures. I would never try to hunt Prince in the dark. That’s his element.
Never get trapped by Prince in the dark. They will never find you.