“… if you are an artist, that means that you are denuding yourself more and more, that by the time you die you are stark naked and your bowels turned inside out.”
– Henry Miller, January 26, 1938, in a letter to “Michael Fraenkel of the myth”
I’m going to try to keep it brief because I try to be a humble person.
Completely forgot that I was a hero on Wednesday. No hyperbole here. A F*cking H-E-R-O.
As ThisKidHere and I were walking home, I overheard this guy talking to a girl. Something about the conversation sounded familiar so I stopped. He was on a bike waiting for the light to change next to a very pretty girl with headphones. He would say something, she’d reply with a word and put her headphones back on. “Hey, hey. Whatchu listenin’ to that got your attention?” I’m no Sherlock but this went on a few minutes but not that so long I couldn’t figure out what was happening.
As Ru would put it, JUST BETWEEN US GOILS.. . If you were ever with a friend, would you keep listening to your music while they were talking to you?
I walked over and said to her, “Hi, there.”
She took off her earbud again.
“I couldn’t help but notice this guy bothering you. Do you need some help?”
She very sweetly said no and I walked away while the guy was openmouthed and (finally) speechless.
Not a half a block later, Bike Perv called to me and told me not to interrupt him when he was talking to his friend. I yelled back, “She wasn’t your friend.” I thought, “Numbnuts.” I continued, “It’s called STREET HARASSMENT. LOOK IT UP.”
And that is how I solved street harassment, from one woman to another. You see something, say something. (The MTA had it right but not for racial profiling.)
The End (of this story but not to cat-calling, sadly.)