Streetwear Kings

Chapter One

It's mesmerizing.

The quilted leather felt soft to the touch. The sheen on the surface was as if someone deftly glossed the finest of virgin olive oil over it. Even the black seemed like a different black. Almost as if there was a special black that the universe made specifically for this bag.

Of course, many would argue that this wasn't just a bag - it was a Chanel bag.

The cost was irrelevant. The value was immeasurable.

I wanted it.

So I called Harry from the

"Harry, we need to get this bag today. If we are going to be the street wear kings of New York, then we need this bag, yo - in black - and we need to do what we need to do with it."

Harry answered, "Are you sure, Fin? I mean - are you sure we need to vandalize it?"

"Harry, we aren't vandalizing it. We aren't marking it up. We are making a statement. Street-chic requires a certain level of oneupmanship. Don't you remember the Louis V bags when Stephen Sprouse tagged them in hot pink lettering? Supreme x Northface?"

"Yeah but that was - Stephen Sprouse."

"And we are next, yo."

There was a bit of silence over the phone. The sort of silence that seemed like it could go on forever. So I had to stop eternity from continuing in this ugly form.

"Let's meet up at Joe's. I need a slice. You need a slice. And we need to talk. But I'm hungry, yo."

The only thing worse then silence was hunger. I need a slice of pizza and coke to wash down these fears - of the unknown. And the best way to do that was to sprinkle some hot pepper flakes on a just-out-of-the-oven-ready-to-burn-the-top-of-your-mouth slice of NY's finest pizza. And I needed it now.

Harry replied, "Aiite."

I pressed "end".