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Once when I was a teenager, my mother called me from the mall because a man was masturbating in the parking lot she needed to walk through to get home. Could I come get her? My mother was small, but not easily intimidated. I had seen her tell off leering men in forceful Puerto Rican Spanish. So if she was asking, it was because she was worried. I picked my scrawny self up and, burning with impotent rage, went to chap