activist

I turn my gaze downward. I start to sing to myself.

“Hey,” she calls at me.

I ignore her. I sing louder.

“Hello,” she says again. “Hi!” She looks at me. I look to the side, trying desperately to make clear my strong desire to not interact with her. An active effort. “I just want to talk to you. You look nice.”

I don’t look nice. I look surly.

“I bet you want to help children. Do you have some time to help children?”

I pass her. Silently.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” she mutters under her breath once she thinks I can’t hear her anymore.

“Telling someone they’re an awful person isn’t a good way to get money from them,” I say.

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