I was on my way home from picking up Chinese food on 134th street. I tried to cut the corner because everyday men young and old stand outside of Popeyes talking to and eyeing every girl who passes by. I passed by a silver Escalade waiting at the traffic light and the man in the passenger side said “psst, can I talk to you.” I rushed by, hearing his words, but ignoring them. Everyday I find myself listening to music so I can avoid the catcalls from men old enough to be my father.
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