Waiting for the bus. A gaptoothed older man looks me over, smirking; I keep reading the paper.
“You married?” he asks.
“You have children?”
He nods, and then—
“You’d have bigger breasts if you had children.”
The 22A comes and he gets on it. “Eeeeey,” he says, moving to shake my hand before he gets on. He grabs my hand before I can jerk it away; then, grabs me in a tight embrace and kisses my cheek. He smells like something sour.
I wait for my bus. It’s cold.
Submitted by JM on 11/07/2009
Location: Shirlington Transit Center
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