Milk - an La Story

By Frank Costanza

Milk, An LA Story is a gritty story about an LA kid struggling to follow his dream of playing in the NBA. Young Milk moves across the country from the Midwest to LA to live with his divorced Dad and his grandparents with the hope of playing big time high school b-ball and eventually the pros. His story begins when he gets beaten up by gang members early one morning at the Venice Beach basketball courts where he wanted merely to try practicing some skills.. A well-known film action actor comes to his rescue, and advocates for Milk with local gangs the V13 Crips and Shoreline Crips. Milk plays whenever he can, quicking learning street ball with finesse, and, at the same time, becoming close with a local street tough. They have big fun playing at the beach courts, but also causing chaos that only teenagers on the loose can create. Milk comes to realize through some tough experiecnes that his new friend is an extremely violent sex predator being hunted by a local task force. It is a hard lesson to learn, but he takes it to heart and focuses on his high school basketball team...and the young ladies who root for him!

Milk goes on to team up with friends of his Dad, a famous local NBA player and his manager as they help him to enroll in a famous LA SouthCentral basketball program. Milk becomes the first white basketball player ever at the school, which leads to mind-boggling experiences both on and off the court. His story is so unique that it becomes featured in national magazines and local papers. Milk, An LA Story gives readers rich and compelling street level, authentic stories of a young man driven by ambition and extraordinary athletic skills that help him to navigate the highly competitve world of the best high school basketball in the country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669839538

Frank Costanza

Frank Costanza is a world renowned urban survival expert and the author of soon to be best selling Milk An LA Story. For over two decades Frank has been an accomplished drug dealer and drug addict. All while operating a highly successful interstate transportation business. Life on the street has given Frank quite a rich and compelling perspective. He’s a five time presidential fitness award winner. He passed the GED on his first attempt. And he’s also graduated from the eden house drug treatment program in Minneapolis. Frank is currently developing a number of high concept ideas inside Hollywood. And oh yeah he loves fitness.

Book preview

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SIXTH GRADE

M INNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, IT’S 1994. I’M Frank Costanza, a kid that loves sports. Today it’s soccer. I sprint upfield and slide tackle a player for the ball. Ref blows the whistle and yells, OK, I warned you. He reaches in his shirt pocket, pulls out a yellow card, and holds it up high. That’s the warning card.

I see it and start going crazy. That’s total bullshit. That was a play on the ball. You’re horrible. You get paid to do this. You’re a sorry sack of shit. My teammates Ilkka Monson and Andy Preisen run up and start pulling me away from the action. It’s a close game and we want the W bad.

The official yells, That’s it. Get him out of here. He has no respect for the game. And he pulls out a red card, which means I’m ejected.

As I’m getting dragged off the field, I scream back, I have no respect. You’re an embarrassment. You shouldn’t have a job, buddy.

Ilkka says, C’mon, bro. He can suspend you for more games in the future. Take it easy.

Andy chimes in, Yeah, bro, c’mon. We need you. You know you don’t wanna miss any more games.

Finally, they get me to the sideline, and Coach Monson, Ilkka’s dad, meets me and says, Frank, now we’ve talked about this. Remember your breathing, walk with me. You’re all excited right now. Just calm down. Finally, play resumes and things go back to normal. The Monsons are the best. They’ve been our neighbors on Thirty-fourth and Hennepin since we moved into uptown years ago.

My parents met in LA, where my brother and I were born. But when I was three, they got a divorce, and our mom moved us back to Minneapolis, where she’s from. Life in Minneapolis is good. Much of my family is here. I’m twelve now in sixth grade, and things haven’t been going great for me lately. I’ve been struggling academically and have been involved in a number of fights and other sports- and school-related incidents. So it’s decided that I’ll go live with my dad in LA. I definitely haven’t been feeling the private school scene for a while now. I’ve been going to Breck since kindergarten. Located in Golden Valley, a suburb of Minneapolis, it’s the best school in the state. It’s very strict and very demanding.

It’s my first day here. I flew in late last night. I love Venice. My dad lives just three blocks from the Venice beach courts. I fell in love with the Venice courts long ago, visiting one Christmas vacation. My grandparents are so happy to see me. We all live in a three-level apartment building on Canal St., just off Venice and Pacific. The building has three units, one on each floor. Dad and Jenny his girlfriend live on the top floor. My grandparents live in the second-floor unit. And our tenant Les lives in the bottom unit.

I’m very happy with my new living situation. My grandparents do everything for me. My whole life, I’ve had anything and everything I’ve ever wanted. My family isn’t rich, but we’re not poor either. My grandfather is a semiretired banker. He still does some accounting work for my dad out of his home office. And my grandmother works for a very wealthy family that recently moved to Phoenix, so a lot of the time, Grandmother won’t be around unfortunately. And Dad is always working hard at BadCraft, a women’s shoulder-pad- and button-manufacturing company in Commerce, California, that he owns and operates with his girlfriend Jenny. Dad also usually has a number of women on the side that take up plenty of his time.

After Grendeddy and I have a large breakfast at Nichols in the Marina, we get home, and I immediately grab my ball and hit the door to go play some ball at the beach. Basketball has been my favorite sport for a few years now. It’s my dream to play in the NBA, and I know I can do it. It’s so great I just left our place and I’m already approaching the Jim Morrison mural on my left, like twenty yards from the courts.

As I dribble up the sidewalk on Mildred, a few young Hispanics pass me as one wearing a beanie bumps me hard with his shoulder and says, Dis Shoreline crip nigga stay the fuck out my way unless you wanna get hurt, homie. Dis our hood, nigga.

I reply, Sorry, bro.

Another guy wearing a wifebeater adds, C’mon, ese, fuck him. He look like 5-0 nigga. Let’s go get dis money.

The instigator looks at me and replies, I’ll see you around, ese. I’m serious. I don’t like seeing new snowflakes around my beach, homes. And they all just keep walking toward Pacific.

I think, what the fuck? I didn’t even do shit.

I just keep dribbling up to court 1 and watch the full-court game for a minute. This is the greatest place I’ve ever been. It’s just like the movie, and as I look around, I actually see a few guys that were in the movie. I walk up to someone I recognize and say, "Hi, I’m Frank. I just moved here from Minnesota. Weren’t you in White Men Can’t Jump?

The older very tan gray-haired man replies, Ron Beals—nice to meet you, Frank. Yeah, I was in the movie. It was a great time. Woody and Wesley are real nice guys. You say you just moved here. Let me introduce you to a few people.

I reply, Thanks, Ron, you’re so nice!

So I follow Ron as he leads me over to the bleachers that divide the boardwalk from courts. We approach an early forties black guy sitting, smoking a prerolled cigarette. Ron says, Yo, Bobby, this is Frank. He just moved here.

Bobby reaches out his hand, with a smile on his face. Hey, young brotha, nice to meet you.

We shake as I reply, Nice to meet you, Bobby.

Ron continues, That’s JT, Robby, Reggie, Mr. Big, and Jelani. The group acknowledges me, and everyone replies as we all exchange hello greetings.

Mr. Big, a very sharply dressed older man, says, So you’re a baller, huh? Maybe we’ll see you in the league one day like my son Chris.

I reply, Your son is Chris Big—that’s amazing. I love him. But yeah, for sure I’m going league. Y’all will see.

Jelani hops up and says, Nigga, please, I’ll mop you. You ain’t no game. Quit lying, cuz. Let me see you shoot then, nigga. The group laughs as I get up and dribble to the three-point line while the game is at the other end of the court and jack up a three that rims out. Jelani laughs. See, you sorry nigga, a white boy that can’t even shoot. You ain’t going no league. You weak as fuck, nigga.

I reply, Shit, I just got off the plane. You wanna go play right now?

Jelani replies, I would go embarrass the fuck outta you, but we got next and dis shit almost over, you lucky nigga. But we’ll play soon.

I laugh. Oh, OK, you scared. I get it.

The group laughs as JT says, Jelani getting called out by Macaulay Culkin and shit. That’s what we gonna call you, Home Alone. The group bursts out laughing.

Reggie says, Home Alone, hell naw, JT, you a fool, nigga.

I laugh. Good times, nice to meet y’all. I’m gonna be down here getting some shots up.

Ron replies, Nice to meet you, Frank.

So I dribble down to court 3 by the handball courts to an open hoop and start shooting. I take a shot—swish. All these hoops have double rims, so you really have to get some air underneath the ball. I shoot for a long time. My shot feels pretty good. Then I decide to get a drink, so I start walking toward Annie’s by Muscle Beach. I approach a homeless man pushing a dog in a stroller, and I say hello.

The man quickly replies, Fuck you, honky.

I think, Damn, this motherfucker’s crazy as fuck, and just keep walking.

I go to Annie’s and get a Gatorade then I have a seat on my ball in front of the Pit. Guys are working out and flexing for tourists. It’s great. As I have a drink, I see someone I recognize walk over to the flat bench and start busting out reps of 225 like it’s nothing. It’s an actor I’ve seen in a lot of movies. I don’t know his name, but he’s a fucking legend. I gotta go talk to him.

I wait for him to get done with his set, and I go over and say, "Hi, I’m Frank. I just moved here from Minnesota. Hey, weren’t you in Lock Up with Sylvester Stallone? I love that movie."

He replies, Yeah, that was me, little man. Jenny—nice to meet ya.

We shake as I reply, "You we’re also in Marked for Death and a gang of other movies I’ve seen. I see a lot of movies. I’m a movie expert."

He replies, That’s right, little homie. You’re on it. If you liked that, you’re gonna love what I got coming out this year.

I reply, Shit, I can’t wait, bro. You’re the man.

He laughs as he replies, I saw you shooting earlier, little man, your shots looking real nice. Am I gonna see you in the league one day or what?

I reply, Bro, I’m going league, nothing to even talk about. Basketball is all I do.

Jenny replies, That’s what I like to hear, little man. Just keep your nose clean and stay away from these knuckleheads around here. And let me know if anyone gives you any problems.

A group of tourists approach Jenny and wait for his attention as I reply, Man, you’re the best, Jenny, thank you. It was great to meet you. You’re busy. I’ll let you keep working out. I’ll be over here practicing. We dap as I start dribbling back to court 3.

Jenny says, Let me see that crossover.

So I show off my handles as he says, That’s right, big homie. I see you. I smile big as I run off all happy. I can’t believe Jenny is my new best friend. LA is awesome.

I shoot for another hour and play a few games of three on three then I call it a day. As I’m dribbling toward the boardwalk by the bleachers, I see Bobby, Ron and another guy leaning on the wall by the women’s restrooms. The men’s restrooms are on the other side of the small office building facing the Pit. Bobby says, Hey, Frank, dis Pie Face. Pie Face, dis Frank. He just moved here.

I reply, Hi, Pie Face.

Pie Face says, Hey, li’l homie, pass the rock. So I do, as Bobby says, "We been watching. You definitely got some game, little brotha. Just keep putting your work in.

Ron adds, You got the handles and you got the shot, but so do a lot of other guys. It’s all about how bad you want it.

I reply, I want it bad. You guys will see.

We all dap each other as Bobby says, That’s right, little bro.

I reply, Real nice to meet y’all. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m gonna go watch a little NBA.

Ron says, Have a good one, Frank.

As I dribble past the boardwalk, I turn and say, Thanks, guys! And I dribble home without incident.

A few days later, I wake up early and grab my ball to go shoot some hoops. As I approach the Venice courts, I look around and don’t see anyone. It’s pretty foggy right now. So I start shooting on court 1. As I shoot, I see a few goons walking up from the handball courts. They’re up here 24/7, so I think nothing of it. But then one of them runs up and grabs my ball out of the hoop while the other two walk up on me and get right in my face. They’re all bigger and older than me. This ugly guy with a big scar on his face says, What up, cuz? Dis V13 crip mafucka. Hey, check this ese. Me and the homies are just wondering why we don’t know you, white boy.

Then another guy chimes in, Hey, this is a nice ball, white boy. I ain’t got one like this.

I reply, Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just trying to get some shots up so I can make the team.

Then scar face laughs and says, You wanna make the team, huh, white boy? Well guess what, how about we have tryouts right now? Then he throws a haymaker at my face that barely misses me. I step back and throw a punch that glances off someone’s shoulder. Then I take one on the chin, and pretty quickly, I’m down on the ground, getting kicked and punched.

One says, Y’all want his shoes?

Scarface replies, Naw, I just wanted to teach this little Heina a lesson.

One goon with like five teardrop tats under one of his eyes yells, Dis V13 crip nigga, we run dis shit, white boy! After they’re satisfied with the beating, they stand over me and laugh. Teardrop tat gets down on the ground in my face and laughs as he says, Welcome to Venice, pinche puto. Bad news though, white boy. I just checked with the coach, and you didn’t make the team, ese. Then they all start laughing real hard as they walk away, dribbling my ball and passing it to each other.

I’m lying here thinking, what the fuck just happened? I touch my face, and I’m bleeding. Blood is all over my T-shirt. My entire body and my face hurt badly. They’re lucky I’m not bigger because I would have fucked them up. So I slowly get up and start to limp home, without my ball. Fuck school today. Luckily, Grandmother is working in Phoenix, or I’d have serious problems.

The next day while I’m going to get a hot dog at Annie’s, I see my boy Jenny working out in the pit. Jenny calls me over. Yo, Jenny, come over here. So I do. He says What the fuck happened to your face, little man?

I reply, Man, Jenny, some of the guys from the handball courts gave me a little beatdown yesterday morning. It was fucked up. I was just shooting, minding my own business, and they ran up on me.

Jenny replies, Who? Go point ’em out to me.

I reply, Naw, bro, I’m good. It was just a little hazing. I’m good, for real.

Jenny responds, Don’t worry about shit, li’l homie. I’ll take care of them. Keep doing your thing. You ain’t got shit to worry about.

I reply, Thanks, Jenny, you’re the best.

Jenny replies, No problem, li’l homie, we gotchu. Then we shake and do an embrace as he examines my face.

As I walk away, I say, Hey, Cristos, what’s up? to Danny Cristos across the pit.

He replies, Hey, what’s up, little man? as I run back to the courts.

I also quickly become close with Bobby Sweeten and Jelani King, whom I met my first day here. Bobby is a forty-year-old drug addict that lives in his van and makes his money cleaning windows around the area for small local businesses. And Jelani King, a local baller, is just a few years older than me, a real good basketball player, and a pretty fun guy. They’re both at the beach all the time.

My dad supports my basketball career. He takes a pretty hard-line approach to my practice methods. He’s currently an executive at a women’s-garment-manufacturing company. Before that, he was involved with a legal practice for many years. His idols are guys like Paul Bear Bryant, Vince Lombardi, and Bobby Knight, just to give you an idea of what his mindset is toward me and basketball, because it’s a pretty brutal deal at times, let me tell ya.

It’s my second Sunday here. It’s around two, and Dad and I have been shooting on court 3 for hours. As I shoot, Dad yells, No, that’s not it. Snap your fuckin’ wrist at the top. You ain’t doing it right. Now do it again. You’re pushing it like a little girl. Do it fuckin’ right!

As I shoot, some locals look on, displeased. Bobby walks up like Hey, take it easy on him. He’s getting there.

Dad snaps back, Hey, look, raise your fuckin’ kid however you want, and I’ll worry about my kid, how’s that sound? And with that, Bobby just raises his hands and shrugs his shoulders as he walks over to the bleachers and has a seat.

Dad looks back at me. Now do it again, take five more shots then we gotta go, so make ’em good. I shoot again. He yells, That’s not it. Look, it’s simple. Bring your elbow straight up and release the ball at the top of your motion and snap your wrist. Look, pick a different sport if you can’t do it right. I take a few more shots, and he grabs the ball out of the net. That ain’t it. You drifted to your left slightly that time. What the fuck, it’s not that hard. C’mon, let’s go. We’ll come back later. You’re just embarrassing yourself out here right now we’re done. And he grabs the ball and marches off. I just follow him and wave to my boys as we leave. They give me a thumbs-up, and Ron Beals says, Shots looking good. Don’t worry about it, Frank.

I reply, Thanks, Ron, see y’all later.

A few weeks later, it’s Friday, and Jelani and I are playing three on three on court 2, on different teams. It’s game point, and Jelani’s team has the ball, up 10-9. Jelani and his teammates have not been getting along despite their lead. Quite often at the beach, you play with people you’ve never met. He checks me the ball and says, Point game, nigga, you ready because I’m about to send you back to Valley, white boy. I just smile and check the ball back. He passes it then gets it back and drives hard to the basket. I take a stiff elbow as he does. My guys collapse on him, and he drops a pass to his man for a layup. I make him alter his shot and he misses. I run straight to the corner as my guy gets the rebound and kicks it out to me. I shoot a three—swish, game over.

My guys run over to me, all happy. My arm is still in the air as I eyeball Jelani from the other side of the court. Jelani explodes on his man. Fat-ass nigga, how the fuck you miss that? Y’all are sorry as fuck. You didn’t do shit all game. I carried you bitch-ass niggas. His teammates are two mid-thirties white guys around Jelani’s size. Bobby Sweeten is on the sideline, loving it.

Jelani’s teammate responds, Kid, all you do is cry like a little bitch. Just as he says bitch, Jelani just socks this guy hard in the face. He catches the guy totally off guard and drops him. The guy immediately grabs his face, and blood starts going everywhere.

It was a real solid right hand. Everyone is shook. Jelani is just standing there, laughing. Jelani says, Talk some more shit, ho-ass nigga.

Bobby is dying laughing as he yells at Jelani, Jelani, you didn’t have to do that man like that.

Guy that got punched says, That was a chump move, man. The other players are helping this guy up and walking him to the office. He takes off his shirt and holds it over his nose to collect the blood. Everyone is looking at Jelani like he’s a monster.

Jelani walks over to me and says, Nice shot, cuz, you got lucky though. C’mon, fuck this game.

Bobby walks up, smoking a pre roll and says, Well, you fucked this game up, Jelani, good job. Now someone is gonna have to clean this shit up.

Jelani quickly replies, Nigga, fuck this game. Let’s you, me, and Frank go get next on that court and we’ll win all day.

Bobby says, I can play a few games with you little brats but then I gotta go fuck this fat bitch so I can make a hundred dollars. Everyone laughs as we start walking to the other end of the court.

Jelani says to Bobby, Nigga, we know you’re gay. You ain’t gotta lie about goin’ to blow your boyfriend.

Jelani and I laugh as Bobby replies, Fuck you, baby nuts. Jelani negotiates next while we all have a seat on the metal-and-wood bleachers not far from the baseline of the court, just on the other side of the playground area.

While we wait, I see my boy Jenny working out in the pit, so I say, I see my boy. I’ll be right back, y’all. Then I start walking over in between courts 1 and 2.

Old man Ron (Beals) yells, What’s up, Frank?

I say, Hey, Ron.

Then Stevie, this crazy little local, rolls up on his tiny skateboard and little basketball. He hops off his skateboard and lets it keep rolling. Then he gets right in my face. He screams, Hey, what’s up, you stupid bitch? You want some of this? Let’s go right now, motherfucker, one on one. Then he takes his ball and shoots it about forty feet in the air and it lands somewhere around the free-throw line.

I reply, Yeah, for sure we’ll play later, Stevie. I’m playing next over here though, son.

Stevie replies Yeah, bitch, that’s what I thought.

Full-court game comes back downcourt, and New York immediately punts Stevie’s ball over in the sand by the exercise bars. Stevie rips off his shirt and yells, Hey, fuck you, homie, and runs off.

I approach the pit as Jenny finishes a set of pull-ups. He says, What’s up, big homie?

I reply, Hey, what’s up, champ? I run over and hop up as we shake.

He says, You’re looking big, ese.

I reply, Shit, Jenny, you’re huge. We gotta work out sometime. I’ll just be over here playing ball. I got next over here. I just wanted to come say hi. Get at me before you leave, big bro.

He replies, Anytime, little bro. Do your thing, big homie. I gotchu.

I run off. You my boy, bro! I run back to the bleachers all happy. I say, Jenny’s new movie is coming out soon. It looks sick as fuck.

Jelani replies, I thought I saw dat nigga in a couple new trailers, cuz.

I reply, I told you, bro. He’s blowing up right now.

Finally we get on the court and our game begins. And we play for a while, winning three games in a row before Bobby has to leave. So I tell Jelani, I’m out too, bro. I’m tired. Are you gonna be up here tomorrow or what?

He replies, Nigga, you done too? Man, you some ho-ass niggas. Yo, cuz, I’m thirsty. Is it cool if I come to your crib and get something to drink?

I’m like Bro, I know you ain’t been to my place yet, but I live with my grandparents and sometimes they’re kind of mean. You can come over and get something to drink, but they’re kind of weird about letting me have people over, you feel me?

He’s like Yeah, that’s cool, whatever, cuz. So we walk and laugh about Jelani punching the guy. And soon we’re at my place. So I unlock the door and we go inside to have a drink. Luckily, I don’t see my grandfather, and my grandmother is working in Phoenix.

So Jelani and I go have a seat in the living room and I turn on the TV. We’re talking basketball and watching ESPN when my grandfather comes in. He looks at Jelani and me and says Hello.

I reply, Hi, Grendeddy, this is Jelani.

He continues toward his desk as he takes off his hat and sunglasses and has a seat in his office chair. Then he looks over at me and says, Little Frank, come over here,

I think to myself, oh shit, here we go. So I walk over to him as he motions me with his finger to lean in closer, so I do. And then he whispers to me with a pretty serious look. Get that nigger outta here!

I will never forget the look he gives me. I don’t fuck around. I just walk over to Jelani and say, Yo, let’s bounce, dog. He looks at me kind of weird. I just shake my head a little, and we leave. We go outside and I say, Bro, my grandfather just ain’t in a great mood today. Is it cool if I get at you tomorrow?

He replies, Yeah, dog, I’ll be at the beach tomorrow, cuz. Thanks for the Gatorade.

I reply, Cool, bro, see you tomorrow.

So I go back upstairs and Grendeddy calls me over to his desk again. I walk over, and he says, Son, have a seat, so I pull up the chair from Dad’s desk not far away. And he continues, Now, son, I’m gonna tell you a little story. When I was about twelve in Tuscaloosa, my first job was at the local movie theatre, cleaning up after the pictures got out. Now, son, first I cleaned the white side, and it was fine. It wasn’t bad. I swept up some popcorn, maybe picked up a few boxes of candy, and that was about it. He stops for a second and looks at me then continues again. Then I would go do the colored side, and let me tell you something, son, it smelled so bad we could barely stand it. And they left trash everywhere. It was disgusting. We had to wear masks and spray it down every night with some special chemicals. It was horrible. Fortunately for me, I worked hard and was able to get a better job at a pharmacy after not too long. Now, son, the point of my story is those people are not your friends. They may smile in your face, but they ain’t your friends. They hate you. It’s all an act. Trust me, son. Do you understand me now, Little Frank?

I just reply, Yes, Grendeddy, I understand, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.

He says, OK, that’s good, son. That’s real good. Good talk, son. And with that, I just walk back to the living room to watch TV. My grandfather is a retired banker. He’s the former executive vice president for the First National Bank of Tuscaloosa. And yeah, he obviously grew up in a different time and place.

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JUNIOR HIGH

N EWBRIDGE IS A SMALL PRIVATE school in Santa Monica. The staff here takes a pretty organic, laid-back, open-minded approach to school, learning, and life. It’s a pretty low-stress environment. I like it a lot and I make friends right away. We have a full basketball court outside in the middle of the property. I arrive toward the end of sixth grade. And immediately become friends with Igor DeLaurentis. And it’s not long before he starts coming over to my place and hanging out with me at the beach. Igor is an athlete just like me. We both have the same dream to go pro in our sports. Igor’s sport is surfing. He’s a big talker. He’s a real bright, good-looking kid. He tells me his family is pretty big in Hollywood, making movies and designing fashion. He also tells me his sister is a famous chef. He’s real fun to be around.

So one night, I’m at home watching basketball, and Igor calls and says, Hey, what’s up, princess?

I’m like Not much, I’m just watching basketball, pretty boy. What’s up?

He replies, Well, my mom is trying to make me go on this vacation with her and Ivan, her boyfriend, and I told her I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay here and hang out with you at the beach, but then she said, ‘No, you’re coming. Bring Frank, then. Now you’re both coming.’ So, bro, I guess my question is do you wanna come to Tahiti with me, my mom, and Ivan over X-mas break?

I reply, Yeah, dog, I’ll go. Just let me ask my dad, and I’ll tell you what he says at school tomorrow. So we both say our goodbyes and hang up. I ask Dad and he says, Yeah, sure, so I get my passport and it’s off to Tahiti.

We fly first class to Papeete, the main island in Tahiti, and then catch a real small plane to Bora-Bora, where we stay for the week. It’s big fun. His family is very nice. We spend most our time on this resort his family used to own. We swim, go snorkeling, scuba diving, and surfing. We feed sharks and do a bunch of other fun stuff. In Bora-Bora, there are all types of crazy ocean wildlife. It’s great, nothing like I’ve ever seen. One day, Igor, Ivan, Igor’s mom, and I are touring the island, and we decide to take a walk through this little ghetto. We approach some kids playing basketball at this shitty little court. Igor’s mom says, Look, Frank, they’re playing basketball. Go play with them.

I laugh. They look a little small, and none of them are wearing any shoes. Igor and I could beat all twenty of them.

Igor laughs. Yeah, Mom, you’re funny. And I think they’re playing with like a soccer ball or something. Look, Frank. We both laugh as some kids run up to us.

Igor’s mom says, They’re so cute. Look at them. Go play with them, you guys.

I clap my hands for the ball and receive a pass from some scrawny kid. I dribble the ball once, and it’s shaped like a pear. It bounces away in an opposite direction. Igor and I laugh as I say, They’re like playing with a football. What the fuck?

Igor laughs. You suck, man.

Igor’s mom says, Frank, they love your shoes. Look, they’re blown away.

I reply, Well, they should be. These are the new Jordans.

She replies, Frank, please give them the shoes. I’ll buy you more in LA.

I reply, Ma’am, you don’t understand. I met Tupac when I bought these shoes at Westside Pavilion a week ago. We got the last two pairs of 9.5’s. They kept rejecting his credit cards at Champs. We got to kick it for like ten minutes. It was sick. He got down on one knee and fixed my pants and laces. He said, ‘I’m gonna look out for you in the league one day, little man.’ Those were his exact words. I’ll never forget it. Naw, I gotta keep these forever.

Ivan adds, Yeah, and they’d all just kill each other over the one pair anyways. C’mon, dear, let’s keep moving. Igor claps