Rosewood Avenue was a perfectly sloped hill to realize an infinitude of dumbass ideas, the kinds which you would only dare in the company of an equally dumbass companion.  On the doggiest of summer days, without an older brother to take us to the beach, Brandon proposed the idea of taking our useless bodyboards, mounting it on a skateboard, and atop Rosewood, armed with a wetsuit and fins, bomb down the hill in search for the perfect concrete break; thus, Ghetto Boarding was born.

Carving back and forth the empty stretch of asphalt, I always found the lip of the wave at Brandon’s curb, where he’d hurl a bucket of water at me to complete the run.  Prone or drop knee, we’d make it to the top of the hill, the road, hit the lip with a bucket, tumble somewhere between the sidewalk and the lawn, then repeat the process tirelessly until enough skin was scraped. All this because we were bored, young and fearlessly stupid.  And that’s what makes a summer with your best friend.

It’s not Ghetto Boarding these days, but Brandon still manages to come up with ideas that would hold influence over me.  Undoubtedly so is his sense of style.  Though we may have differing tastes — I like to adhere to the old guard of menswear, while Brandon is more adventurous with modern Japanese fashion — I attribute the start of my interest in what I wear to him.

So, to my fashion-forward friend with the bravery to take such risks attributed from our dumbass youth, I say thank you.  Enjoy twenty-nine, and keep inspiring.