The crazy man on the subway told me I was lucky he hadn’t punched me in the face. But by then, I was starting to get annoyed. What would it take for one of the many idle people sitting on this train to interfere? The threatening man seemed to have Rip Van Winkled himself to 96th Street straight from a 1957 Buddy Holly concert for the sole purpose of pouncing on me, a defenseless girl (with glasses)." I had come to expect sympathy, if not assistance, from strangers in difficult situations." You don't say. I wonder why that might be?
It wasn’t until I launched into another expletive-laden defense that I realized, the people in my train car didn’t know if he was the crazy person—or if I was.
I was living in Washington D.C. at the time, and as a female in my early twenties, I had come to expect sympathy, if not assistance, from strangers in difficult situations.
~ archived since 2018 ~
