It’s a foggy San Francisco morning and I’m late for work again. I hurry out the door and I’m halfway to the BART station when I notice that someone on a bicycle has been following me. I turn around to see a guy in a dirty sweatshirt making the “I’m eating you out” tongue and hand gesture. Ewww. I’m almost tempted to tell this creep that I probably don’t have what’s he’s looking for, but instead I turn and walk faster towards the station.
Once on the train, I grab an open seat across from a man in a business suit who smiles politely but then won’t. Stop. Staring. At first I try to ignore him, hoping that he’ll lose interest. When that fails, I try staring back, making sure that he’s aware that I notice. Still no luck — this only seems to encourage him. I eventually give up and hide behind the pages of the magazine I’m reading for the rest of the ride. When we arrive, I get off the train and head towards my station exit. At this point I barely notice that the eyes of several men I pass by drift in my direction. Welcome to my daily commute.
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