My parents—separated, but not divorced, yet still loathsome of one another—used to send me to summer with my uncle, the black sheep of the family, in South Beach. There, four blocks down, on Lincoln, amid a sea of art-deco hotels, was an establishment called the Gah-Gah-Garcade. Uncle Geoff, always lousy with loose bills and change from his job as a bartender at one of the sloppier cabarets, would send me there while he recovered from his hangovers and before we'd have lunch together on the beach.
Hours I'd spend, slamming coin after coin into my favorite amusement—the recently released and blockbuster-branded Jurassic Park pinball, with the humidity pooling sweat in the small of my back, 100% American, coral colored cotton clinging to my hips, a neon blue logo ablaze across my chest, with a three, four, five x multiplier. Sure, boys would stop and distract, trying to make small-talk, but all I could ever think was "motherfucker, I ain't even gonna let you see my high score."
Idle Vice, because you don't have a shirt half as cool as this.
Sized slim. Screen-printed in San Francisco, garments made in America.
Image is a mock-up of the proposed shirt, colors may slightly vary. The shirt will also be tagless, with screen-printed size and washing instructions.