When I graduated from college, I moved to New York City.
This was not the brave If I Can Make it There, I’ll Make it Anywhere stance you might be imagining. I was living in a lovely two bedroom apartment out in posh Forest Hills with a friend and the City was literally crawling with other friends and acquaintances; my parents were a short train ride up to western Connecticut.

Moving to the Big Apple felt SAFE to me.
I had attended a lovely Northeastern liberal arts college and had never experienced anything there that felt like sexual intimidation, let alone assault. I had done Summer Theater while in school with an actor who insisted on walking around the communal dressing room completely naked; believe me when I say, there was no rational reason for him to ever be in that building without at least his underwear on. But that was my only encounter during those years that really made me feel uncomfortable.

Shortly after moving into my new digs, however, I was walking one bright and sunny afternoon down a tree-lined street near the famed tennis stadium when I became aware of a car following closely behind me. I ignored it for a minute or two—probably has nothing to do with me, I thought—until finally, realizing I was alone here with the exception of this vehicle, I hazarded a glance over my shoulder.

There was a nicely dressed man in an expensive convertible with the https://www.trendiee.com/confessions/hey-men-like-girl/

Ok