A man spat at me in the street yesterday. I don’t know why. I just turned toward him and my glasses misted up with a spray of spittle. I thought about calling him back, like in a film. But in a film one of two things would happen: either I would surprise everyone by beating him up, or I would end up embarrassed and in pain. And this wasn’t a film, so I knew which one it would be. When it started to rain I felt better, because I had an umbrella but I knew he didn’t.

Originally posted on The Drabble.

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