the “Psss” or “anti-tranquillo”

It has gotten into me today. I am so tired of these people grabbing me and whistling at me. It is in their culture, I know. But I could not take it anymore. The fucking taxi drivers honking their availability, these fat mamas, at the markets, grabbing you by the hand, so you sit and eat that always undercooked food, drug dealers trying to sell you something, drunks and bums just yelling at you, some sort of communication method. But most of all, I’m tired of being whistled at, and psssed at. The psss, oh, how much I hate that, all of them, the old ones and the young ones. These boys, trying to get something out of you, sell stuff, show stuff, and tell you stuff. Shit you don’t need but can’t avoid. Just be tranquillo (calm, chill) I was told by gringos and locals. I try. But I could not anymore. I was looking for something like this for some time now. I imagined the worse case scenarios in my head. I was looking for trouble. For days I would take long walks around town at night.
“Peligroso” is the word for danger in Spanish, the word doesn’t sound dangerous to me it is too melodic, like a song or an Italian cake. This word is as common as the word “tranquillo” almost interchangeable.
This boy psssed at me I the central park of Granada. Any other day I would’ve continued going my way, but today was different. I stopped and waited for him to come closer. I was boiling. This is my fucking TV moment. He was the personification of all these people, the money changers who jump in your face, the drivers who are almost running you over when you pass in front of them, the beggars who stick their dirty and often wounded hands in your face. He came close to me. I began to yell at him, I was cursing him out in Russian, in the middle of a busy street, nobody seemed to pay attention. Russian is an absolutely useless language in Latin America; I almost never use it here, except for cases like that. Apparently, he wanted to show me a hostel to stay. Ironically, that was the same hostel I was already staying at. Of course, he did not understand a word of what I said but he got an idea. He tried to show me that he was not afraid. He was shorter than me with uneven teeth and huge ugly pimples were covering his face. He pulled his face very close to mine and yelled back at me. He was yelling that I should’ve use Spanish for cursing and also things like “do you want problems with me” and “do you wanna peace of me”. My Spanish has gotten to be much better and I understood almost everything he was saying. Naturally he was bluffing, I was not. I was ready to punch this poor bustard. I know it was not his fault, but whose fault is this? Not mine. I was enjoying every minute of this. Enjoying my anger, his fear and his fake machismo, when I raised my hand he would jump out and then back in, like nothing happened. I‘d stamp it loud with my foot, he would back out and his face would show sudden fear. Realizing that he was loosing this, he began to curse furiously in Spanish. But it was over. I turned back and walked away… Away, to the hostel he was trying to show me.
Tonight, when I'll be walking the streets, I am keeping my leatherman knife in my pocket, just in case.