I was on the dance team in high school and I always took the bus to practice. One day, I was running late by about half an hour. My coaches were already upset over my past offenses, so as soon as I got off the bus, I broke into a run. I was five blocks away and it was pouring down rain, so I knew I would be dripping by the time I got to practice.
I reached a stop light. I was so eager to cross the street that I was practically hopping in place like a jogger. While I was waiting, I heard someone shout, “Pretty girl! Pretty girl!”
A 300-pound man ran toward me… or bounced toward me, really. He reminded me of that white ball in The Prisoner. BUM-ba-BUM-ba-BUM. I would have run away, but I needed to cross the street and the light was still red.
He was out of breath by the time he got to me. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes.
“Pretty girl,” he gasped. “Pretty girl, do you know what time it is?”
“It’s 6:30,” I said curtly, my eyes fixed on the eternally red light.
“Okay. Give me a hug. I’m in love with you.” This enormous stinky man grabbed me in his fat arms and gave me a huge hug.
The light turned green, so I squirmed away from him and ran across the street at top speed. The crazy man put out a reaching arm like they do in romance movies and cried, “Pretty girl! Wait!”