On International Women's Day, outside QFC on Broadway and Pike, I was blasting my music, hands full of groceries, when you—a pretty person who to me presented as nonbinary—walked up to me and asked me to take my headphones out. When I did, you pointed out a man behind me saying, “Hey, he likes your pants.”

Turning around, a man clearly high off his ass was shouting about how much he liked my skintight leggings. I thanked him and put my headphones back in. Over my music, I could hear him shout that I was a whore, and then he started ranting. I could tell his rant wasn't pleasant by the concerned stares from people around me on the street.

I was hoping for some solidarity from the Cap Hill community. What on earth made you think it was a good idea to come up to me to force me to engage with someone clearly in crisis? All I wanted was a simple grocery run, not a reminder of the challenges women face daily.

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