Went to get some lunch and got hit by a bike messenger crossing the street. I'm OK. He didn't hit me that hard. I might have a bruise on my thigh and my purse broke. Fucking asshole didn't even stop to see if I was OK. He gave me a dirty look, like I was the one with the problem and kept going. Two guys selling counterfeit Rolexes nearby started screaming "COMEBACK, ASSHOLE!" and offered to chase him but I declined. I went into Duane Reade and started crying in the shampoo aisle. Guess I was a little shook up. That kind of thing is always frightening. I'm cool now though. Those guys should be required to wear license numbers on their jackets so people can report their shit when they act like assholes.