The invasion continues:
I'm at the local thrift store, and a young gentleman is trying to sell the proprietor a pair of clean Nikes. He must be about 18, with a sizeable 'fro. He looks down at my feet.
"Excuse me sir," he says. "Where'd you get those?"
"Bob Jones, downtown."
Afterward, Allie: "That's awesome! I think you're right. This is really going to catch on." (Which is critical for her, because she turned me on to the shoes and would therefore be the rightful inner-city trendsetter.)
Geoffery looks at my feet and says, "You need to move to Grinnel, Iowa. Everyone there's wearing them things." (Since visiting Grinnel, Geoffery has been referring to it as "KKK Town." On the way back from a debate tournament in Milwaukee, they stopped off at the town's Dairy Queen. Upon seeing the vanload of black kids, Geoffery says, the whole town went silent and stared.)
"Nah man," I said. "You need to get you a pair of these."
"I can't wear those. That'd be like wearing flip flops."
"Flip flops! Now you're just exposing your own country-ness." Then I told the story of the Brooklyn kids I saw at a debate tournament wearing flip flops -- two years ago.
"Yeah, but that's Brooklyn," he insisted. "I'm talking the 'hood."
"Seriously," he went on, unfazed, "how you expect to wear those and be robbin' stores and jumping fences and stuff
"Geoffery, when's the last time you robbed a store and jumped a fence? These shoes are for the masses. The thug-free majoriity. Just wait. Everybody's gonna be wearing these next year."