5 different layers, 40 degrees. Loose blue wash denim jeans, a long sleeve red and white striped shirt with a hole in the armpit, a black jacket zipped up to the chin, a blue beanie, and a scarf that grandma knit to wrap everything together. 

With straight poise and direct focus, my head glued to the ground, I walk forward, take a left at the light, and straight for one avenue. 

Past the stares, past the hollers, past the whistles.

A small errand for peanut butter, cucumbers, and whole wheat bread.

Comes with a two-minute walk full of “DAYUMMS” and men standing too close. 

Entering the safety of the blue tiled grocery store, a sigh of relief and degradation.

After the beeps of the broken-down self-checkout, I throw the plastic bag over my shoulder.

Bracing for the feelings of shame and disgust, 

I can only walk down half the avenue before the man in a hard hat approaches in one quick motion.

Too quick to comprehend, he jolts and I sprint.

Jeans dragging along the trash on the cement,

The armpit hole getting larger with each stride,

Zipper scraping my jaw every time it bounces up and falls back down,

Blue beanie struggling to stay on top of my head without my right hand’s grip,

The scarf escaped, It is the wind’s scarf now. And I feel lighter. 

Panting like a dog, scared like a cat, I am home, disheveled, but I am home.

I knew I felt lighter, the plastic bag with the peanut butter, cucumbers and whole wheat bread was left behind with the man in the hard hat.