Excuse me...?

…Excuse me? Did you just speak to me? Well, then I assume because you’re a complete fucking stranger yelling at me while I have my headphones in that you were warning me of some imminent danger or asking for directions or helpfully bringing to my attention a school of ducks that have been following me. Oh, no? You just wanted to tell me that you would destroy my pretty little ass?

Let me stop you right there. We’re gonna break this down for a minute, sir.

Now, both you and I know damn well that there is not one thing that will come of this interaction besides me being uncomfortable and annoyed (or, uncomfortable and enraged, as the case may be) and you feeling like some sort of big man for yelling disgusting things in the street like a drunken maniac. We both know that you don’t really think yelling at strangers in the street is step one of our society’s delicate courting ritual, so why exactly do you do it?

What’s that? Oh, I’m supposed to take it as a compliment. I’m sorry, who the fuck are you? I’m supposed to take your opinion as a compliment? You, the guy hanging out in front of the grocery store, with nothing to do in the middle of the god-damn day. You, the random guy in a suit on the subway. The hundreds of yous, lined up on the streets outside my apartment, constantly watching and leering, making sure that I can't make one move without a judgement, a comment. What kind of power trip are you on that makes you think your opinion is worth anything to me?

And that’s exactly it. You have no power. You’re nothing. And so for this brief moment, you’re using my body to make you feel like you have some kind of control. And really, that’s just sad.