My hands were bound behind my back, my mouth gagged, and my eyes blindfolded. My senses one by one were taken from me, leaving me to depend upon the ...ounds that filled the contained space. I could tell by the deep voices around me that the room was filled with men. There was more than one, but numbering them was difficult. I could hear three, four, maybe more men. They threw out cat calls, and demands:“Look at this sweet bitch we have here. Oooooweeee.” “She’s a whore just like the rest. . If your aim is off by a few degrees you could hit somebody, and they might respond by beating you to death with their bare hands, a trash can, a newspaper box, or by pushing you into a careening taxi driven by a Egyptian emigrant who has never driven in ice and snow before. I myself have no reservations – under duress, I’m a spitter. You might think I was being particularly dim, or something – I mean, everybody knows that you shouldn’t spit into the wind. I guess I wasn’t thinking, or the whole. More

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