I was on my way somewhere, and I saw a guy yelling at the girl on the subway platform. Time went by, and he kept yelling. From the conversation, it seemed like she didn’t want to go to back home with him and he didn’t agree. After ten minutes or so of listening to his red-faced screaming and swearing at her, I asked her if she needed help. I felt like if I didn’t ask her and just stood there with a long face like everybody else, I would betray my humanity. My interference made him leave although I am sure the second I was out of sight he was back. He tried to yell at me, too, but didn’t get very far. Not me. No fucking way.

I talked to her a little bit, I missed my trains, and I was late to where I was going, but I needed to. I hope she reaches out to me or to anybody, I hope hope hope she does. I hope she does it before she ends up with a black eye or broken bones.

There was a time when I lived in hell. One incredible thing that happens once you go through hell is, you stop being afraid. I am not afraid of much. I am not afraid of stepping on the bully’s idea of politeness, I don’t care if I am out of line if my heart tells me I am doing the right thing. I am very afraid of being a coward.