True story: Sharkula walked into a sneaker store in Chicago while I was checking out kicks. It was the middle of summer and he was profusely sweating, had a giant unkempt beard, and he asked the dude at the register for a glass of water (who the fukk goes into a sneaker store for water). Improbably enough, the dude at the register walked to the back of the store to get this man a cup of water. During which time this vagabond lookin nikka starts staring at me, and tells me I look familiar:
"You a famous r&b singer?"
"Nah, I don't sing at all."
"Maybe I seen you around town then."
"Nah, I ain't from here."
"Where you from?"
"New York City."
"What part?"
"Harlem."
"I'm a rapper. I did a song with a famous rapper from Harlem. Kool Keith."
"Word? Keith is actually my cousin. And he's from the Bronx."
I just knew I caught this homeless nikka in a lie. What were the chances he'd make up a story about Keith to a random stranger who happened to be his family? He told me his name was Sharkula, and that I should look him up. I didn't, because he was clearly some homeless nikka. Later that night I met a friend for a drink and was recounting what happened. White dude at the bar overhears the convo and says "Sharkula! He's everywhere. Local legend." Turns out the man was telling the truth the whole time.
