Cruising for A Bruising

It was a muggy afternoon in Suginami, an upper-middle-class neighborhood of Tokyo, and Keiichi Onizawa was strolling home from the train station. The 68-year-old journalist was alone on a quiet street sheltered by cherry trees along the Kanda River. Suddenly, he heard footsteps, then a loud voice: "You bastard!" Onizawa turned around to see two muscular young men rushing him. The shorter, stockier one swung an iron pipe at his head; Onizawa blocked it but the metal tore into his arm. A second blow ripped through his shirt and the flesh on his shoulder. For good measure, the taller guy kicked...

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