Bike attack, unredacted

Full disclosure. There's a coda to the bike attack. The coda retells the ending, wherein I don't pedal past the sons-of-bitches. In the real ending there is no popcorn, either. Nor is it a still midnight. In the real ending I'm dragged off my bike like a bag of spuds and two guys beat my head into the macadam. While it's happening commuters are beginning their trudge to the G train, and all day I thought I was one lucky bastard for not getting more hurt than I was. After a day spent filling out forms, having my head examined, and whining to unresponsive NYPD detectives, I go home and sulk and soak in the bathtub as blood pounds in my ears and my skull and nose throb.I'm not as charitable. I want to excoriate my fucking neighbors and beat Hispanics senseless. But I went to sleep listening to Mahmoud Ahmed's Ethopieste. Never do anything enraged. Let anger simmer and see what it tastes like in the morning.