A kid ran into me on a CitiBike. I was sitting on my own CitiBike, halted in the crosswalk before a turn. He had an unlit joint in his mouth and skidded into me without saying a word. Klonk. I looked at him. “The brake broke,” he said, before ooching backwards. He reoriented and pedaled off without apology. I didn’t need one. I did need a cup of coffee, though, so I walked east on Spring and ended up at the Dominique Ansel bakery, where they make the cronuts. I only wanted coffee and would not have planned to visit this place in the normal course of events. For $12.83, I got a large coffee and a DKA, which I assume is called that because Ansel doesn’t think Americans can say “kouign-amann” (which is what a DKA is). The DKA was cold and leaden, a few hours old at least. Skip that nonsense and go to C&B, the best bakery in New York City. Ali’s kouign-amann is heavenly, as is everything else he makes.