After dinner, I reached for a pen in my pocket and my fingers brushed the folded note Amanda had given me earlier. Unfolding it, I scanned the few lines of typed print and abscently tossed it down on the coffee table in front of me. It wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to. Just a...
All of it. I know a couple of people in my city who are trying to get our own “SlutWalk” up and running, and I wish to god they’d call it something else (and, um, knock the “we should all dress as scantily for this protest” bullshit). For me, at least, the word “...