*names and locations and other details changed for fun.
This is an artistically enhanced statement relating to an incident of bike theft and an assault that occurred outside of THE HEARTBREAKING MAJESTIC DECAYING ENTROPY OF MICHIGAN CENTRAL STATION by the bike racks at approximately 1600hrs on SUNDAY 98th DECEMBEFEBRUARYILER 2147. I have decided to enhance this statement as the Met Police report was unbelievably dry and failed to capture so many aspects of reality, perceived and imagined, and the motivations of those involved. The number relating to this incident is 3.1415926535. I would describe myself as a lockdown-exacerbated overweight male experiencing a mid life crisis, at the time of the incident I was wearing knock off designer jeans that are a bit too tight but which I persevere with for fashion, generic “leisure” trainers and a “streetwear” brand top with as a failing attempt to extend the appearance of my youth. I also had an old skateboarders helmet, covered with stickers, for additional underground street credibility.
The first person that I will mention in this statement is 1 of the CLOWNS, he was a typical basic bike thief idiot making little attempts to smarten up and blend into a crowd so as to avoid detection, instead preferring the standard awful grey tracksuit, white socks, dark trainers, and black puffa jacket uniform of so many aggro youtube videos. He was probably twenty or so, old enough to know better really. I will refer to this person as CLOWN 1. His mate CLOWN 2 was also with him, also dressed in depressing athleisure wear produced by blind orphans in Bangladesh to line the pockets of Mike Ashley, not really backing CLOWN 1 up properly at any stage, which goes to show that scumbags like this are only ever in it for themselves and concepts such as loyalty, a code, and so on are TV / cinema idealisations of low level crims and not reflective of the reality of the way that decades of a never-ending Murdoch-sponsored, Thatcherite / Johnsonite society putting the individual self-actualisation at the expense of everything else have permeated down to every strata, atrophying all sense of togetherness, decency, respect for your fellow human beings.
I was at MICHIGAN CENTRAL STATION with my two younger children, we had cycled to MICHIGAN CENTRAL STATION to visit a shop and possibly get some scrap lead piping for cash exchange, may as well start them young in advance of the impending real apocalypse, this whole Covid thing is just a dress rehersal. Whilst I was locking our own bikes up at the bike racks that are situated outside MICHIGAN CENTRAL STATION I noticed CLOWN 1 walking, and CLOWN 2 cycling on a Santander Bike, which without wanting to jump to any conclusions, I don’t think he had paid with his credit card for. With zero regard for anyone seeing what they were doing, which is probably accurate given that most people do not want to intervene in any situation where they are not directly impacted (see previous paragraph) they were looking and pointing at various bikes that were locked up. I am not a mind reader but it was blatant that they were just there to steal something.
As I was watching them I noticed that CLOWN 1 had leant down to a dark coloured bike, I then heard a snipping noise. CLOWN 1 then pulled the bike out of the racks and started to ride off on it. What happened next, who knows that factors are at play when we make these types of decisions in our head in a split second? Was it the memory of having a BMX stolen from me when I was 10, seeing the guy in the distance with my bike and unsuccessfully chasing after him, and then getting in a fight with a known bully in a different estate who the thief had cycled past on a small green, but said something to me like “nobody came down here, now fuck off home” and I exploded and went mad on him with my fists and got a good punch in, but then I was still eventually overpowered and battered, and that frustration and shame coming back to me and me wanting to put it right? Was it the slow burning irritation of having parts of a bike ripped off when I had it locked up securely outside Café Oto for a Jan Jelinek gig, with people standing less than a few metres away and nobody intervened? Was it the righteous indignation at CLOWNS like this taking bikes from people who are cycling for either economic or environmental reasons, and then in many cases people not returning to it? Whatever it was, and I am still unsure, I said “hey! Stop! Don’t do that! Leave it alone”, but of course now CLOWN 1 had prematurely thrown in all his chips and had to continue, he couldn’t fold now that he’d cut the lock off.
CLOWN 1 cycled towards the road, but in that split second I make the decision that I would I run after him and as our paths crossed, our lives were about to intersect in a much more intimate way than a few words, and now that the whole thing was in motion it was pointless to stop it, it was like two rogue interstellar planets on a collision course and it was easier just to let it happen and survey the damage afterwards. I did my best Maro Itoje impression and threw my arms around him in an unwelcome embrace, attempting to get him off the bike, all the while extolling the benefits of just walking away from it. We debated, physically, for a while, and it would be unbearably trite of me to say that time slowed down or it felt like longer than it probably was… but time slowed down and it felt like longer than it probably was.
At this point CLOWN 1’s youth, adrenaline, and flight instinct kicking into overdrive meant he was getting the better of me, despite my overwhelming desire to restrain him. The use of the cable cutters as a weapon then suddenly became a reasonable option for him, so he decided to pursue this, thankfully not making contact with a swipe at my face with it, but the avoidance throwing me off balance and at that point the fight left me a bit pyschologically with a brief moment of self-doubt (“what the fuck are you doing here, exactly?” said my inner voice). CLOWN 2 had ambled his way over to where CLOWN 1 and I were having our little tete a tete, and again a minor note of panic played, but thankfully – and restoring my faith in humanity somewhat, another cycling lunatic like myself stepped forward ready to administer some Kryptonite D-Lock justice, telling him to back the fuck up, which resulted in CLOWN 2 putting his tail between his legs and running off in the other direction, straight into the loving cuddle of a TSG van opening its door, with an unmasked copper opening the door with a gleeful smile on his face, akin to John Cleese.
After CLOWN 1 had got the better of me in our fight and I lay sprawled on the ground, hands bruised and back grazed – the dormant neural pathways of that stolen BMX aftermath seeping back into life – he decided that he’d had enough of this debate and was on his merry way with his ill-gotten gains. He continued to cycle down the slope towards THE MECCA OF TECHNO. And again, as if to say that my misanthropy really needed a session on the couch with a shrink, another good citizen lunatic cyclist that saw the incident, then, at the very last opportune second, put his own bike in the way of CLOWN 1, which knocked him off the bike. So beautiful to see it – if only I could have slowed it down and soundtracked it with the theme from 2001 A Space Odyssey. CLOWN 1 started into a weakened jog, but of course this being a central train station with hyper-tense anti-terror cops on tenterhooks all day waiting for any incident involving shouting, fighting, etc., with the potential of some armed fascist who got up on the wrong side of bed for the last few years finally going postal on it, by the time CLOWN 1 had reached the junction with traffic, another gleeful van was there waiting for him, with more jaunty bobbies swarming around me and the area where we had been fighting. Both CLOWNS snared away in the back of the vans, considering their life choices.
I was high as a kite for 48 hours afterwards. The cops are no friends of mine, institutionally racist and corrupt, where to begin? with documenting all the problems I have with them. But, no quarter for bike thieves. Happy to see them have the shit kicked out of them in the wagon, fingernails pulled, whatever. This is my one vice against my fellow humans, please afford it guilt-free to me.