I'm sorry for that. I really am. But here's the story:

On my way to the DePaul library to study, after watching Prison Break, I'm locking up outside Burger King for some coffee (closest thing). This guy walks up to me, older guy, suntanned, and says

"Hey, man, you interested in some Deep V rims?"
Ears prick up.
"Maybe, you got some?"
He looks at my bike and goes,
"Yeah, they got the dual sprockets on 'em like yours do" Giggidy giggidy
"You know what kind?"
"Oh, I don't know, the ones made in Australia." Giggidy goo.

I size the guy up; he's missing some teeth, and it's clear he's been through some shiz, but he seems OK. And I can probably take him if I need to. So I walk with him to the Shurgard on Ashland and Fullerton. He tells me about how he just moved back to Chicago from Florida, how he's a carpenter but he had a bad injury a year ago, but how he's going to find work in Chicago. He tells me how bad the neighborhood was even three years ago, let alone in the sixties, when there were three biker (motorcycles, Orphans don't count) gangs in this hood. This is, by the way, on the border of just about the most posh neighborhood in Chicago.

So we get back to his storage unit, and I kill him. Kidding! He opens up the door, and next to this old Motobecane roadie out come these dope-ass mother****ing grey on black on black machined Deep Vs laced to IRO hubs. Fixed-fixed; grey (I think, maybe black) rims, black spokes, and black hubs. They spin like they're new, and they're totally true. Turns out he's got 4 bikes, and he had a friend who ran a shop in Florida who sold him these.

I'm cool. I'm like "Yeah, these are nice, but you know they're for a totally different kind of bike than the one you've got there, right?"
"Yeah, I know. I just got tired of working on bikes"
"So how much you want?"
"I don't know, man, make me an offer."
"Well, I got 50 bucks right here"
He makes a face
"But I can give you 50 more when I go to an ATM"
"Alright, man, it's a deal."

So we walk out to a Walgreens, and I give him $60, cuz I'm that kind of guy. We part ways, and he tells me he's glad I'm going to enjoy them. "You bet I am, man, I'm gonna ride on these every single day." I wish him good luck, I strap 'em to my back, and ride out of earshot before I yell out in sheer Jewish joy. (I'm a Jew).

So please, be happy for me.