Sole Control (Extended Version)

I was just walking down the street when my friend Dustin stopped in front of a Foot Locker and pointed out an advertisement hanging in the window.


“You see those Jordans? Man, those are the Jordan X’s. They got all his accomplishments inscribed on the soles. These are going to be the hottest shoes when they come out.”


I was only like 12 years old and had no idea what he was talking about. I didn’t even really like basketball, but I saw those sneakers and knew I had to have them. The black, red, and white color scheme wasn’t anything my eyes hadn’t seen before but they still hypnotized me. I looked down at my ratty all-white Reebok Classics and felt embarrassed. I went home that night and started scrounging up any nickels and dimes I could find underneath the cushions of my parents sofa. I didn’t come from a poor neighborhood, my family did well for themselves, but I knew there was no chance in hell that my father was going to buy me a pair shoes for $175. No way. I didn’t even bother asking because I was afraid of his response.


I started dreaming about what I would look like in those Jordans. I wanted some classic fit Ralph Lauren Polo khakis, a nice Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, and maybe one of those Chicago Bulls Champion crew neck sweaters… no, how about a throwback Flyers varsity jacket from Mitchell & Ness? Sometimes I can’t remember what I was thinking. Yeah, that sounds right. I didn’t even care that the red wouldn’t match with the orange, I just had to have it. So how does a pre-pubescent existence come up with that kind of cash? I turned into a brainstorming machine. I would walk around downtown pretending to be some abandoned kid and the old ladies would give me money. Sometimes I would just try to pick pocket them, in which cases they practically always caught me. Late at night I would smash car windows to see if the owners left their wallets or some loose dollar bills in the center console or glove compartments. I usually just came up with some loose change found in the cup holders. I would go into Laundromats and press every coin return on the washers and dryers. Once in awhile if I felt motivated I would go to the old Veterans houses that lived on my street and offer to mow their lawn or wash their cars for a few dollars, but that was rare. I was about fast cash… mostly fast change, but I had to start somewhere.


It took me 3 months to save up that money, but I did it and I bought those Jordans. I was almost too afraid to wear them, especially because the rest of my wardrobe was significantly lacking. Faded blue jeans and a dumb ass Midway Little League All-Stars t-shirt didn’t exactly compliment my prized possession. Either way, I was hooked. I did whatever I could to get the newest, freshest, most talked about shoes before anyone else had them. Whatever it took. As I got older the level of my crimes began to elevate. In high school I was introduced to marijuana and figured fuck it, I’ll sell a little bit for the money. It was easier then getting a job, without a doubt. My sneaker collection began to grow from Jordans to Air Ones to Air Max 90s, 93s, 95s, 97s. Anything with that check and even some New Balance and Reebok Pumps thrown in there. Blazers, Nike SB, Structures, Trainers, Stabs, Adidas Classic Shell Tops, Wallys, it didn’t matter, I had it.


As it turns out, I wasn’t just addicted to the shoes. I became obsessed with the lifestyle. Fashion is expensive, so my endeavors were forced to expand. I started dealing a little cocaine. Actually more than just a little. You know how it goes. You start in the minor leagues selling dimes to your friends after school and graduate to the majors. We all know the story so let’s just skip all that.


I had a nice apartment downtown after I dropped out of college. Chemistry was really the only class I needed. English, Sociology, Western Civilization? No thanks. I was driving around in a BMW M3. Black with black rims and a subtle tint. For business purposes I drove a not so glamorous Toyota Camry four door sedan complete with dryer sheets lining the trunk. It had a nasty dent on the passenger side door, maybe from a shopping cart but who really knows? I didn’t smoke cigarettes but occasionally I would burn some non-menthol Newports or Camels inside of my car just to eliminate any lingering odors. I was, by no means, a kingpin. I still answered to somebody who answered to somebody else who answered to somebody else and etc. However, I did oversee the movement of a fair amount of drugs.


In my apartment I had to dedicate a room to my shoe collection which had begun to get out of hand. I was buying shit that wasn’t even special edition or dead stock. Just regular Nike Classics in plain colors. I had a lot of Euro releases that I gave up an arm and a leg for, but they were worth it. The way the 97s gleam when a camera flash hits them, it’s incredible. And the look on peoples faces when I was walking around in Air Max 95s that had Burberry print? Priceless. Ugliest shoe I own, but it got attention. Was that what was I looking for? Maybe. Or maybe it was that feeling you get, you know the one. It’s hard to explain. You walk into that little boutique and see those Air Structures down towards the bottom of the display. Teal with blue and a little black. You know that nobody in a 10 mile radius has any idea how hard those sneakers are going to hit when you put on your Ralph Lauren Polo khaki shorts that you wear a little high because you’re ahead of the game, a pair of black socks mid-cut on the ankle so you can see the Champion “C”, and a black short sleeved t-shirt with a front pocket on it. It’s sort of like when you’re fooling around with some girl above the sheets and she’s licking on your ear and shit and you touch her on the outside of her pants but you hit that spot and she thrusts her hips into yours while skipping a breath and you KNOW you are about fuck this girl. Yeah, sort of like that. But better, because you talked the oriental woman down to 70 dollars which is more than a fucking steal. They should lock me up for that in itself.


Anyway, some pressure was applied to a few of my affiliates and I got touched. Same old story. I’m doing a little bid upstate and my life is pretty much ruined. All of my shoes are being kept in a storage space for me and I’ve been tossing around the idea of selling them once I get out to make a little money. I probably won’t though. I’m standing here looking out of this little window in an orange jumpsuit with some numbers on the back in the freshest Orange/Black/White Air Max 90s you could ever find. Orange laces. I just wanted you to know that. Now would be a great time to have that Flyers Varsity Jacket from Mitchell & Ness. See you in five to ten.


All for the sneakers.


William Wallace