Last night, my friend Eugenia and I went to a restaurant and took seats at the corner of the bar. An hour later, a man obviously who had been drinking nearly bumped into me. I reacted by holding my hands up, bracing for contact. He stopped directly behind my stool, brushing against it with his torso, as he began hovering over me. I politely asked him to step back from my chair, telling him he was too close. Rather than comply, he stood there, leaning in with a drunken stare.

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