Was it?

When I run in foreign places I find men animalize to take my attention; ancient hormones play out wonderfully rude.

And as I loathe every one of them, I find a perverse delight in disappointing their ego. Sometimes I flash an aggressively mocking face. Other times I indulge in my child’s mind and stick out my tongue. My favourite however, is the international finger; third from the left, and third from the right. And each time, immediately after I choose to righteously offend, I make myself feel a bullet pierce through my back.

And each time I ask myself, ‘Was it worth it?’