SII Graded Post #1: Story Starter

As you go through school and life there are some people that make you feel weird inside; those strange people that make you feel like there going to stalk you some day. These people are everywhere. The wacko guy at work that talks to no one and makes you want to leave the break room if you see him coming. There are those kids at school, to deep for anyone to understand them. You know, the ones that use more that 5% of their brains unlike the rest of us. The ones you are afraid of talking to because your scared that you will make yourself look like an idiot. They are not fat, they aren't tall. They are so normal they blend into the wallpaper. Maybe they have glasses, light-dark hair, brown eyes; so normal; to normal for the rest of the population.
I have met my "creepy person" today for the first time at work. I am sitting at my small desk, alone in my cubical. My sad pathetic lunch consisting of a sandwich and some stale chips blend with the table. I type some random letter on the computer to fool the Catbert of my office I was doing something. Out of the corner of my eye I see him coming toward me. What do I do? I think to myself as his pigeon toed walk slowly carries him toward me. My eyes pass his thick rimmed glasses and on to his rainbow of pens he has in his pocket protecter. If he loses it maybe he won't kill me if I give him what he wants.
"Would you happen to have a napkin?" he whispered in a nervous tone.
"Yeah………um, yes I do." I try and so less creeped out then my face looked. I hand him one of my wilted blue napkins from my New Year's party I had.
"Thank you very much." he responded; his voice had a controlled nervousness to it, like he broke the ice on a first date. He began to walk slowly back to in cubical down the hall. Like he was expecting for me to say something.
"Would you like to have the rest of your lunch with me?" my mouth said before I could stop myself. What am I doing?! I just asked the 35 year-old creepo in my office to have lunch with me.
His paced quickened to his cubical and returned in a moment to join me in my 6 x 6 hell hole. His old left over pizza looked better than my limp sandwich. I force myself to make small conversation till Mr. Catbert came back to tell us lunch was over.
" Why did you decide to go into programming?"
"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
. . .