I’m walking behind her
I can smell it wafting off of her as I’m walking behind her towards the subway.

This is how I’ve taken to feel I have to walk on these New York sidewalks. The last thing I want is a confrontation. People are always walking at different paces. When I can hear them coming up behind me I get anxious. I always imagine them in a scarier fashion than they are. I have a common sort of enemy I picture. It’s not The Judge but rather some sort of brute. Sometimes it’s a male model. Other times it’s a busy Brooklyn girl with headphones in and a pony tail bobbing from the back of her head above her workout pants.

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