True Story!

It's 2006. It's spring. It's just another day in paradise(?).

I'm at work as usual. Sports shop. Selling shoes. Joggers, trainers, sneakers, take your pick. Me and my co-worker David are alone in the shop so what is otherwise known as "forbidden shop music" is streaming through the speakers, placed high up under the ceiling. It's one of those fresh spring days in the end of march. On of those days you can keep the door open and it feels like summer. On of those days when the tarmac in the shade is a bit damp, but the tarmac in the sun is as dry as my dads sense of humour.

A car with the roof dropped down, probably for the first time this year, stops at the red light. We can hear what music they're playing, D4L - Laffy Taffy, and they can hear the music we're playing, The Game - Hate it or love it (feat 50 cent). The volume in the store is probably to high but who is going to find out?

The day goes by in a slow pace. The customers who make the days go by are not customers today. They are out in the sun. But the slow pace is nice today anyway. No rush, no worries.

As I wrap up one of few sales, new customers step in through the door. The anoying "pling" doesn't go off because we turned it off. However, these customers makes themselves heard anyway. They're big, they're American. They all wear baggy jeans, New Era caps, some pieces of jewelery and similar jackets with the print Wu Tang on the back.

"Whaddup man!", the man in front say to me.
I can't really squease out a reply at first. Because it just occured to me that Wu Tang Clan just stepped in to our little store on Södermalm in Stockholm. I don't even have to make sure because I know it's them, they're performing tonight, but I ask anyway:
"Are you really Wu Tang Clan?"
"Fo sho", he reply, smiling and showing of his "grill".

The 'Killa Bees' start looking around the shop. David looks at me with a surprised, astouned and happy face. The music is not loud anymore. We can't even hear it. But we can hear our famous customers asking for Timberlands. I step down to the dark basement and bring them what they want.

As they walk out 25 minutes later, the music goes back on. A few new customers come in, and a few new customers leave. But I don't move. Neither do David. But yet we walk around in the footsteps of Wu Tang Clan. Then we realise; David's Wu Tang shirt is on the counter, completely forgotten, completely unsigned.