Dear street harasser: I felt pretty good walking down Pike Street yesterday, on my way to the bookstore for a cup of coffee and a paperback. The sun was beautiful, the air was crisp, and the afternoon seemed full of possibility. And then you crossed my path and leered at my chest as you said, so slowly, "Nice... arms." Do you know what street harassment does? Do you know how it affects someone? Do you know what your asinine, lowest-common-denominator statement did to my afternoon? It made me feel like shit, that's what it did. It made me feel ashamed. I thought about running after you and asking why you feel compelled to comment on women's bodies on the street. But instead I just covered myself up and walked around for the rest of the day feeling slimed. And the worst part, you schmuck? I looked good. And I felt good. Until you gave me a reason to feel otherwise. Here's hoping that next time you keep your fucking mouth shut.

—Anonymous