Freaks ahoy. On the bus from work - yes, I work weekends - a guy in his 20s, black or mulatto, obviously quite well-to-do, sat on the seat next to mine for the whole 45 minute trip. For the first 10 minutes, he was staring at me, in a glazed-over kind of way. That was not disturbing, I do it myself sometimes if there is no other place to look but other people, but the thing is, he was sitting beside me, not opposite me, so he had to actually turn his head 90 degrees to stare at me. After about 10 minutes, he stuck out his tongue and made a grimace, and, incidentally, spent the rest of the voyage that way. At this point I began to be freaked out. But it was not until he started making track-runner-like panting noises that I started to be disturbed in earnest. I considered geting off at the next available, well-lit stop and waiting for the next bus, or, alternatively, try and inconspicuously dig out the knife that was at the bottom of my backpack and completely uncombatworthy, not to mention the fact that I know next to nothing about self-defense. Luckily, the freak got off soon afterwards, giving me a parting glance full of genuine hate.