You: a stranger walking along Broadway outside Memphis Santora at 2 in the morning. Me: the weepy little shit-faced gal sitting next to her ex-boyfriend, struggling through a mess of tears and sniffles to form coherent sentences—any coherent sentence, actually. Where you were headed I'll never know, but I'd like to thank you for turning around. You couldn't have possibly known I was with my ex-boyfriend and not some random guy I'd just met—or that I was crying because I felt sorry for myself, not because I was feeling threatened—but the three seconds you took out of your night to turn around and ask, "Are you okay, miss?" made me feel safe and protected in this unfamiliar single world—even if only for a moment. I couldn't find the words to say it that night—maybe because they were still floating at the bottom of my mojito glass—but I can now: thank you.
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