“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.