I was terrified every time I stepped out of my flat. Over the previous few months I'd been spat at, kicked, had dogs set on me and been attacked with cricket and baseball bats. 'Tatchell, you communist p**f!' a man shouted out the window. Splayed on the pavement, cut, bruised and my heart pounding, I watched as the van sped off. Some split-second instinct made me veer to the gutter, but I still got side-swiped off my bicycle, narrowly escaping being crushed under the wheels. I glanced over my shoulder to see a white Transit van coming straight at me. As I was cycling along a quiet road, the sound of a vehicle close behind alerted me to danger.
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