It was like that my whole life. Not the scene played out although I did test a man long enough for him to wrap his hands around my throat and slam me on a bed. More the feeling of a vengeful conqueror behind me, beside me and not feeling threatened for safety but image. I became preoccupied with the bruise the rest of the walk. A thumbprint and him, I wanted to remember him shuddering slightly, recoiling at the sight of me. Yes, here are things I will do. I began to list them out loud in public. I use my thumb to start the count so the next man I pass near a storefront knows I am serious.

1.I would push a man in front of a moving truck if he ever threatens my life.
2. I would change direction on the street to avoid someone right in front of them.
3. I would steal from everyone.

I always mentioned survival but never my gluttony. I never mentioned my temper. Writers learn to show it so do dancers. I began lining my pockets with trinkets and stones and watching myself become a pretty painted pink teapot as I passed poor storefronts.

“That motherfucker left a mark,” I saw a few times outloud as I begin my trek back, unsure if I’m right but then I check.

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