Walkin'

I decided to take a walk down to my local party store for Faygo and some cigarrettes. On this particular walk, I noticed a girl standing on the corner of the street a block ahead of me. Now, Cass ave. is a good place to catch the occasional glimpse of a hooker and this is what I suspected she was. This girl wasn't much to look at, really; youngish, but chubby and not very pretty. She wore headphones and bounced slightly to whatever the music was.
It doesn't bother me that the occasional hooker plies her trade in my neighborhood. In fact, my usual reaction is, "Oh look! A hooker!" Kind of like you say, "oh look, horses!" when you're driving through the country. It's not like there are packs of wild prostitutes outside my front door, patiently waiting to savage the innocence out of anyone that strays too far from the herd.
(Man stumbles in his front door, suit torn and shredded, briefcase open and dangling limply from his hand. Young conservative wife rushes to him: what happened? Are you all right? Man: Prostitutes... attacked from nowhere... didn't stand a chance on my own. Wife, backing away: Don't touch me!)
So, as I'm approaching human interaction range with this girl who I assume to be a hooker, I decide to give her the polite smile and nod as I walk by. The smile and nod says that you're not interested, you're just exchanging a quick friendly hello. Don't bother me, I won't bother you. It's quick. It's easy. It's neighborly. It didn't work.
As I passed, I looked at her and started to smile. She looked at me with no expression whatsoever and yelled, "you wanna eat my pussy?" loud and directly into my face.
Being the the quick witted cad that I am, I replied evenly, "does that come with french fries?"
No, actually, I just kept walking with the smile-and-nod still half formed and frozen rictus-like on my face while my brain gurgled it's way into figuring out what the appropriate response might be.