This week I wanna talk about one of my favorite shoes ever. In fact, I hunt around the globe trying to find a pair just so I can always have them in rotation. I currently have three pairs, new, in box as we speak. I'm talking about the classic, Adidas 'Top Ten'.

They were originally a basketball shoe, low top and hi top and they basically came in solid colors. White with blue and red stripes (my favorite), black with white stripes etc, etc. For all of you so called "sneaker pimps" out there that never had a pair, how the fuck could you not have owned a pair? If you've been sleeping outside trying to get dunks and your entire collection is made up of Nikes, look at yourself in the mirror, hipster. Adidas has recently re-released the top ten in a variety of different multi-colored, bullshit colorways.

Boo son...boo. Thats ok though, I still have the originals to remind me of days past. In fact, they remind me of this one time...

(Flashback Sound)

Before the guido disco monstrosity that is Webster Hall existed, it was The Ritz. It was THE rock venue of it's time and it was there that I met my good friend Artie Mays. It was during the superbowl of hardcore, not exactly sure if it was the first or second one, but I think it was the first. Anyways, Artie was security there. He was one of those dudes that worked the door at every place in the city. It was like everywhere you went, this mufucka was at the door. He started working at Mercury Lounge in the 90's and I would roll by to see him fairly often throughout the week when I was either on my way to get drunk or leaving the place I had gotten drunk at.

One glorious summer night, while standing in front of what used to be the parking lot on Houston st., Artie and I lit up a cigarette and began to discuss the issues that were plaguing our world at the time. It was the Clinton era so the conversation was short *wink,wink*. All of a sudden this stocky white gentleman walks up to me holding a cigarette. As soon as he opened his mouth I recognized the accent; "Giive a me a light boy," came out of his mouth in the thickest South African accent I've heard since Lethal Weapon 2:(I know y'all remember that "You're bleck" shit)

At first I was really confused and couldn't figure out if thats what I had heard. I needed Artie to confirm; "Artie did this muthafucka just call me boy?" The smile on Artie's face told me exactly what I needed to know. I reached deep down into the core of my ancestral strength, into ancestry that I'm not even sure that I have. The Masai, The Watusi, and even more...the people of Soweto. The punch I threw knocked that muthafucka halfway to Katz's. I opened that bitch up literally, the cut over his eye look like a babies mouth. His friend ran over and me and Artie were ready get down. I think when they saw the size of Artie's hands they immediately changed their minds. Both of them were like "We're sorry!!!" I wasn't even angry, I just felt like it was something I had to do. "Tell your boy he ain't in South Africa and he just got knocked the fuck out by a *Kaffir." That was all I had to say about it as they dragged his bloody unconscious ass across the street. It was a miracle that not one police car passed during this whole incident but Artie reminded me that I should be going, so I gave him a pound and bounced.

I was rocking Top Tens that day and I remember because they were white and I had blood on them from when I kicked him. Yeah he was down, so fuckin what? Artie quit working at Mercury Lounge and began working at Lit. He passed away due to a mysterious drug overdose in 2006. Rest in peace homes I miss you. I have tons of stories about that dude.

Maybe next time.

*Kaffir is the white south african equivalent of nigger. Yes with the "ER".