hang-up

The park was abandoned, as was usual for that hour. I actually had wondered a couple of times if it was dangerous, wandering the more isolated, tree-hidden road through the park when the sun was setting. But when you think of yourself as invisible, the possibility of crime seems fairly remote. Crime is a concern for women who have jewelry that might be snatched, or attractive, creamy white necks that invite slicing. For women who read too many rape scenes in too many novels, worrying themselves into needless hang-ups about walking alone, looking into the backseat, opening the front door to men in ski masks. I’ve never been any of these women.

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