Without further ado, here it is: (302 words)
An thin, elderly gentleman with a briefcase fought his way to the back of the streetcar. He sat beside Gwen, a tall, round, thirty-something.
“There was an empty seat in front of the pregnant teacher, but he just had to sit beside me,” Gwen thought, irritated, her claustrophobia kicking in.
She glared at him. He tried to speak to her. The sharp, rank scent of booze accosted her. Instantly, she turned away, ignoring him.
The boys in front of Gwen voraciously ate fat cinnamon buns in brown paper bags. The pretty pregnant woman’s eyes sparkled as she talked with the teenagers surrounding them. They laughed and joked with their teacher. Gwen smiled. “Good kids this lot,” she thought.
Gwen froze. Something was touching her; no, someone. She could feel it on the underside of her thigh, through her jeans. She had to be mistaken. No, there it was again. A distinct sweep of fingers ending in a definite grope. Shocked, unable to make eye contact, she looked at the old man. He was reaching across his body under his briefcase to do it. This was no accident. Her stop was soon, maybe she could wait it out. His hand flexed, rubbing the underside of her thigh.
“Nope, can't do it,” she thought, half-panicked.
Too shy to say anything to him, ashamed of her fear, Gwen got up, staring resolutely forward, and walked the length of the streetcar to the driver.
She paused. “Should I say something?” she wondered. The consequences flashed before her. She would inconvenience everyone. “It was only my thigh,” she thought.
Gwen sat in a single seat, behind the driver. The next stop was hers. She got off the streetcar in a daze. Her brain finally catching up, yelled inside her head, "I WAS GROPED ON A STREETCAR!"
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