I am very aware of cars behind me. I do my best to walk so that I am facing traffic on my side, but sometimes they still manage to sneak up on me.
Windows rolled down all the way usually means men whistling. It is always the men who whistle, but sometimes the women with them laugh the hardest.
Windows rolled halfway are usually worse. Sometimes these cars pull up next to me, slow down to match my walk. “You need to go the fuck home,” screams a red face, eyes peering over the top of his glass shield. I wonder where he thinks faggots come from, but I don’t say anything. Just keep walking.