Oh, it's a chick.

Went for a walk in the dark just to get up and out of my brain a little bit. It didn't much help. And it left me with a sour notion of my little midnight calm walks.

First thing I came across was a bum - one of those teen bums that has a sign with a riff on "I need money to get drunk" and a new looking emo outfit.

"Hey, dude." He said. Then looked at me again. "Oh, it's a chick. Do you have any pizza?"

Ok, so I was wearing my baggy sweat pants and a hoodie. But I didn't even have the hood up. And ok, so the guy was probably gone on something. But still, a stoner in the dark can't tell I'm a chick? I don't know why I cared but I did. A teeny burden on my mind, one that I was trying to escape by going for a walk - amifatandugly? Oh god, on paper (or screen) it looks so melodramatic.

Then I was circling Nick's work, halfway hoping to meet him as I came out, and two guys tried to start hitting on me - "Let's ask this lady where Henry's is. Hi, we're from Norway and Alaska (heh, right) and we were wondering if you knew where Henry's was."

"Actually, no, it sounds familiar, but I don't."

"You play lacrosse and you don't know? Wait, that's your boyfriend's shirt, he plays lacrosse and you don't know? Well you better get your own clothes and put on some shoes and find out where Henry's is." and then they walked (huffily?) away. Say what? It turned bitter and insulting quickly. Another little niggle in my mind, doubt and caring tangling up together. I walked home and wanted to have said something huffy back at them. Ah well.