I walk a lot.
I have a car, but sometimes, it’s nice to be able to look around you and see what’s out there.
I lived in New York City for about four years, so walking is no big deal.
Cat-calling is no big deal.
I was walking, today, in the Baltimore Inner Harbor. It was broad daylight. 2 p.m., or so.
I was minding my business—I’m always minding my business.
I saw a boy—couldn’t have been more than 17—walking alongside me, but it really isn’t a big deal.
I call him a boy, because I’m almost 30, and anyone who is less than 25 I equate to be the same as my little brother; He’s 21 and to me, he’s still a kid.
A kid walking beside me isn’t a big deal because I’m used to being spoken to, or flirted with.
I don’t like it, but I’m used to it. I’m polite (if they are). I decline. I keep it movin’. Whatever.
I have my headphones in. The Carters are playing and I hear this kid saying something to me.
I think I hear him, but I’m not sure. My music is kinda loud, kinda not.
He says, “Do you suck d—k?”
Nah, he can’t be talking to me.