That was how I felt, at least, until the night that Chastity and I tried to go straight from the movies to St. Anne without any drinks or buffer in between.
The back exit of the movie theatre deposited us in central Rennes, where Friday night celebrations were already in full swing. We navigated our way past hordes of carousing sans-abri, their drunken cries echoing in the alleys, over broken cobblestones and wine bottles, and between puddles of liquor based vomit all the way up to Rue St. Anne, where packs of dogs and people were strewn about the streets haphazardly.
As we shoved our way through the throngs, attempting to avoid both the leering men and mutts yapping at our clicking heels, I began to feel both terrified and disoriented. I grabbed Chastity’s arm.
“This is totally unfamiliar to me!" I hissed. "Are you sure we're going the right way?!”
“Relax,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, “Look straight ahead and stay calm. We’re just going to duck into the nearest bar.”
My heart was beating rapidly. Within the confines of a large, obnoxious group, we had always blended right in. In fact, we probably helped to make the street's reputation seedier. Now it was just us two girls, alone, and Hypochondria was setting in. What if someone snatched my purse? What if a dog bit my ankle? What if someone threw up on me?
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