Young man. Striped shirt. Big-ish car... cannot tell which make; never cared enough about models and names.
Young man leans out to ask for directions. The rest is a familiar, old story.
'Where is PVR Saket?'
'Do you live around here?'
'Would you like to come with me to PVR?'
And after I say 'No', he says, 'Fucking bitch'.
I stop, turn around, take a good, long look at him. No words. I glance down at his number plate, and walk on ahead.
He follows.
'Excuse me, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.'
Whoever was driving HR29 Q 1782, on Monday evening, June 18th, 2007, is not a very nice young man. The apology was not accepted.
[Cross-posted on known turf]
Young man leans out to ask for directions. The rest is a familiar, old story.
'Where is PVR Saket?'
'Do you live around here?'
'Would you like to come with me to PVR?'
And after I say 'No', he says, 'Fucking bitch'.
I stop, turn around, take a good, long look at him. No words. I glance down at his number plate, and walk on ahead.
He follows.
'Excuse me, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.'
Whoever was driving HR29 Q 1782, on Monday evening, June 18th, 2007, is not a very nice young man. The apology was not accepted.
[Cross-posted on known turf]
