Prodigal Heirs and their Sons

As independent females we cannot escape the dissolute habits of men. 'Eye raping' is a fact of life we'd all rather disregard. I know there are countless, creepy, males crawling this planet; and I know it is inevitable that someday I will be forced to come into contact with at least one of them. I have been warned against these things. I have been prepared for the storm.

Unfortunately when it rains, it pours.

It seemed every scary old man in Salt Lake City was out today, and I had the terrible misfortune of meeting them all.
I was sitting across from Carla and Kathy on TRAX, recovering from my embarrassing dare of dancing the can-can on the train. A man entered the car and his eyes locked onto us. He wore a checkered shirt and facial hair. I glanced at him briefly and thought, "Suspcious." And there it was; an undeniable wink. I did a double take. And there it was again. It was true; he was hitting on me.
As we stepped off the train at Gallivan Plaza, the sight of the bustling city met our eyes. A lonely hobo was playing his cello on the corner. He followed we three as we nervously waited to cross the street. Nodding and smiling at me, he tipped his hat. A harmless, homeless man? Perhaps.
"Do you have two quarters?"
"I'm sorry, I don't have any change."
There was an awkward silence as he stood before me, staring with shifty, twitching eyes.
Run away!
A while later I was alone in the elevator of Wells Fargo, floor number twenty-one. Another man enters. He stares. Up goes the elevator. 22-23-24...
(Door opens, enter Carla and Kathy, laughing.)
Another wink.
"Have a nice day ladies."
On the train ride home I felt the nervous pressure of Carla's hand on my leg, as we tried to avoid eye contact with the person sitting across from us. He did insist on talking, however, and asked us several too personal questions. I zipped up my jacket, bit my lip, and nodded politely to his rambling.
Perhaps I was disturbed by these minor occurrences because I am not used to being accosted and bombarded with questions from strange old men. And someone screaming, "I want you!" from their car is not my idea of fun.
In other words, I am back to my man-hating stage. I simply wish that these things would not happen. I wish that raggedy old men could keep their eyes in their own sockets so I would be spared the pain of witnessing them look at my friends in that way.
Ugh.
There is one thing I don't understand. Do I appear so needy... so desperate for attention that these men think it is favorable in my eyes to wink, to question, and to flirt?
I most certainly hope not.