“Look, it’s up to you. But, if you do it now, it’s done. You’ve said for several days you’re going to do it, but you haven’t. Okay. Yeah. Okay. I’ll see you later.” Click.

The man in the seat in front of me turns around. “So is he going to do it?”


The mass of bikers, cyclists, and bicycle commuters approaches the intersection of Beacon and Kirkland. On the other side are two cops, recognizable from a distance if you know what they look like. The front of the pack slows down and then stops as the light turns red. Several people break off to the side–passing on the right–and through the signal.

The cops across the street yell for them to stop, once they have officially broken the law.

The rest of us start up again. “Stupid kids,” someone mutters to me on my left. I look over at her and she smiles. “They have to learn to trust the rest of us. The folly of youth.”


This is about rape.

“Okay, I’m just going to say it, I’m worried she’s going to get raped.”

There is a moment of silence and then agreement.

“I mean, statistically speaking, she is more likely to get raped than anything else.”

More agreement.

“It’s really disgusting that that’s what we’re worried about, you know. That her actions are ones we think will get her raped. Even those words ‘get her raped.’ That’s really messed up.”

“Someone will rape her and use her actions as an excuse.”