Dorsoduro is Dead to Me

Dear Creepy Dorsoduro Man,

I do not want to see your penis. Please stop trying to show it to me. I was not lying or joking when I informed you that I studied martial arts for three years. Though I would hope to have enough self-control to avoid the use of violence, if it came down to it I would not be above kicking your ass.

Thanks to you, I have seen enough penis to last my entire trip. More than enough. Really. I'm all set. And just for your information, asking "may I touch myself?" does not really count as polite if you're going to proceed anyway when your request is denied. I'm not going to let you ruin Venice for me, as I was having a pretty good day after the whole creepy penis incident, up until you (I can only hope) coincidentally ended up walking behind me today. And in case you really enjoy making girls uncomfortable, you should know that you don't so much scare me, as I'm pretty sure I could take you fairly easily, but you do bother me. I felt a little sorry for you until I ran into you again.

And by the way, I realize that Venice is a small town, and that you live here whereas I am a visitor. As such, I understand that our paths may cross again. However, if you do happen to find yourself walking behind me as you did today, the proper course of action, for future reference, is to pretend you don't see me and take an alternate course, or quicken your pace and hurry past me unnoticed. Because if you say "ciao" and wink at me when I turn around again, I will likely do more than roll my eyes and start walking immediately in the other direction. I may go and find a shop to call to police, or I may, as aforementioned, kick your ass. You can probably run faster than I can, but I got, like, forty pounds on you. I don't know what that would be in kilos, and I hope you won't need to find out. My left hook isn't much to brag about, but I've got a pretty mean right cross. And, y'know, having your junk hangin' out leaves you pretty tactically vulnerable. You fuckwit.

Sincerely,
Holly