16 July 2007

The Revolution Will Be Hand Woven In The Outer Hebrides

This town ain't big enough for the both of us...

Some hack at my office thinks he knows hats. My boy has like two hats. It's not hard to impress people with fashion on the corporate level. For instance, when I went to pick up my seersucker suit from Jos. A. last weekend, the saleswoman wanted to touch and feel my tattoos like this was 1969 or something.

Anyway, my boy thinks he knows hats. I see him walking out of here like God's gift. I heard him in the elevator, too. His colleagues take note and naturally they're inquisitive: "Hey Bob, you're like into hats, huh?"

They ask him questions and look for his advice on hats and he humours them with a haughty air of lordliness.

Motherf%cker, theres a dark horse in this cubicle over here and you ain't seen nothing yet.

You're nothing but a local DJ; a wanna-be; a fake; a phony; an open-mic hustler. Whaddya got? Two, three hats maybe? Four if you count your 2005 corduroy company baseball cap.

Nigga, I ain't ever seen you at Borsalino. And I know you don't know my crew at J.J.

You really have no idea who you're messing with, compadre.

I'll let the kid have a few more weeks in the sun; get your kicks, get your thrills with your two hat pony. Wait til the fall, my friend. Just wait. Your empire will crumble.

You've angered a sleeping lion... who just so happens to have a lot of quality head wear.

Love,
The fur-felt fedora with the derby to match and the Harris Tweed mack cap with the ear flaps and the Tartan... na, don't get me started on the Tartan.

Ya best Holla!

1 comment:

Clarté Dubois said...

I am using that picture as avatar for a blog.
That blog is very important as it is featuring my book.
And that boy is exactly fitting in the story...