danced at the edge of the dance floor. I staggered awkwardly after the rhythm. It looked involuntarily funny. From the loudspeakers, R'n'B and HipHop roared. Music I never danced to. Isabel could have warned me at least. A few pairs of eyes were pointed at me. Around me, almost without exception, I perceived dark men. I felt uncomfortable. I did not mind and danced on. The chopped rhythm of the rape threw me out of the rhythm. I tried again and concentrated more on the beat. It worked, but it did not work well. A black man laughed.
'Oh God,' I thought, 'was he laughing at me?' There was no doubt. He also looked over at me. He looked at me. I also looked stupid as I hobbled around here. My self-consciousness, which was held together with difficulty, said good-bye. I stepped up and sprinted to the toilet. I nearly tore a guy. Here I felt safe. I looked into the mirror. Beneath my upper part the vaults were clearly visible. But it was not my breasts. Isabel had insisted that I should wecontinue reading