"Hey rainbow!" I am wearing a striped shirt, knew they were talking to me. "Hey rainbow!" I am glad I had crossed to the other side of the street, having seen this pack of guys hanging out on the stoop on one side. They continued to call out "Rainbow" to get my attention before giving up and calling me faggot. As a faggot, I hate that I have to live in white(r) neighborhoods, more gentrified ones, to feel safe walking on the street alone late at night. I was pretty scared and was also made voiceless, was not allowed to respond how I would have liked to, yelling obscenities back, because then I certainly would have suffered bodily harm, the streets being totally empty aside from these aggressive males. I hate how I have to bike everywhere late at night to feel safe, how every time I have walked on foot in my neighborhood late at night I have suffered harrassment of one sort or another. It's so beautiful during the daytime, but at night, males own the streets, aggressive, homophobic ones who make me feel very unsafe.

I had left this bar, Sugarland, feeling like shit. I had hit on this one boy there, a fairly boring boy who I had slept with earlier and who I thought liked me, hoping (expecting) that he would sleep with me. Instead, I got the cold shoulder from this boy I didn't even like all that much and that hurt so much more than being rejected by a boy I thought was really sexy or by a stranger - that to be rejected by a fairly unsexy boy, bland as could be, who was not a stranger took my already fragile self-esteem down about twenty notches.

And so I left the bar, doing so because I was unable to talk to anyone with any confidence at this point, that my night seemed over, got a slice of pizza at the Beford place by the subway, and there in their wall of mirrors checked myself out, questioned what it was I saw, and really felt like shit, just wanted to stuff my face with this pizza and ride this train home. I did so, and of course after getting off the train would not even be able to sulk home in peace, to wallow in self-pity as I had planned, but instead would be called faggot by a pack of men and would keep my gaze ahead, not wanting to engage with them, not wanting to get my ass kicked.