Wounded in the Park. A True Story.



Not So Cool Guy sitting on Central Park bench. A fresh pair of Nike Air Force Ones adorn his feet. He is approached by Young Guy.

Young Guy: Hey, cousin. Where you get those Uptowns?

Not So Cool Guy: The wha?

Young Guy: Those Uptowns, they nice son. Where you get ‘em?

Not So Cool Guy: Oh I got these at the Manhattan Mall on 34th.

Young Guy: Yo, they got all the bouroughs on em ‘too! That’s dope, that’s dope.

Not So Cool Guy: (Uneasily nodding his head) Yeah.

Young Guy: Hey, I like those a lot, they got the colors on the bottom?

Not So Cool Guy: Yeah, yeah I think so.

Young Guy: Show me real quick. Just real quick.

Not So Cool Guy: No, man. Sorry. I’m kinda busy.

Young Guy: Nigga, how you go’n be busy reading the paper? Let me see it real quick.

Not So Cool Guy: Um. (lifts up shoe to show Young Guy the bottom of it)

Young Guy: Oh shit, they got the shits in color at the bottom!

Not So Cool Guy: Heh, yeah…

Young Guy: Cousin, I’ma cop those. Lemme try on one foot real quick.

Not So Cool Guy: I’m busy, man. (Goes back to his reading)

Young Guy: Nephew, come on son, just one foot. Just one foot.

Not So Cool Guy: (Ignoring Young Guy)

Young Guy: One foot. I ain’t go’n run off with your shit. Fuck trade me. I’ll give you one foot of mines.

Not So Cool Guy: (sighs grudgingly. Hands shoe to Young Guy)

Young Guy: (Puts on shoe. Hands his shoe over to Not So Cool Guy)

Not So Cool Guy: Alright. Happy?

Young Guy: Hold up. Lemme walk in it real fast. (begins to walk around the bench wearing one foot of his own shoe and one foot of the Air Force One’s). They nice. They Nice. Give me the other one real quick. Just to see how they feel together.

Not So Cool Guy: What’re you fucking crazy? No I’m not gonna let you wear both of ‘em.

Young Guy: Son, you have my shoes. How the fuck I’ma leave my shoes?

Not So Cool Guy: Give me back my shoe.

Young Guy: Let me just put on the other one real quick. Just real quick.

Not So Cool Guy: No.

Young Guy: C’mon what I’ma look like running off with a pair of sneakers. I’ma hand you mine.

Not So Cool Guy: (They trade shoes again)

Young Guy: These look so good, son. (raises his two fingers). Peace Nigga. (Walks away)

Not So Cool Guy: (Sits there with his mouth open, colored of cowardice)

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Virtues. Those fledgling things that must be trained by exertion, just as the muscles are. The initial workout of the muscles often leave one sore, yet the virtues are usually at their most sore post one of Fate's assaults. A true story nonetheless.

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Today's goals. Exertion of virtue and a trip to the Strand at Union Square in search of Hannah Arendt.

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The park tale is true. I feel that I should add that I'm not a character in it.