Last Week

Lyrics

On the escalator at a Chicago train station, a man of probably twice my age and half my height decides it is totally appropriate to jam his fingers up my skirt from behind. (Hint: It's not. My phone case says "Touch Me and YOU DIE") At first, I am too startled to speak. He asks if I am American, but concludes with a slimy certainty that I must be Chinese. I am still angry at myself for being a frozen feminist. For not swallowing my tongue, but misplacing it altogether. My friends say that I should not expect any differently from this city; this city that talks with her mouth full and forgets to say thank you. But I know Chicago is not the problem. I have seen Chicago hold her doors open for so long, the hinges got stuck. I have seen Chicago offer groceries while her own stomach whines. I know Chicago to be kind, kind, kind. But like all charming things, vile things live inside.