Scenario: I’m wearing a black dress and black high-heeled shoes, walking down Douglas Street on my way to meet some friends for appetizers and drinks. As I pass a bus stop, a scruffy-looking man approaches me, steps in front of me, and grins: “I almost got punched a few minutes ago. Will you be my angel? My dark angel? You want to be my dark angel?”
I keep walking. I am nobody’s angel.
