Violence You Cannot Unwear

A few years ago I was out with a lover at a bar when a woman playing pool alongside us gave me crazy shade for no apparent reason. She was straight up disrespectful. “Where did you learn how to play?” She was all rolling eyes and pursed lips and swiveling neck. “Listen, let me tell you the rules,” she put her hand on her hip and proceeded to try to school me. She was mid-sentence when I turned and walked away. She followed me, her voice getting louder and more irate with each step. I turned. “Yo! Do. Not. Follow. Me.” She stopped dead in her tracks. I gave her that ill Brooklyn glare that I keep hidden in my back pocket for moments just like this. Then I turned and walked to where my lover was sitting. Laughing, he said, “Don’t smack her, alright.”

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