TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE:
- dunked on a ten-foot goal one (1) time
- outran a low-level Turkish crime man at 4am in Instanbul
- made it to 2A state track meet in 3200m https://twitter.com/espn/status/1248995148903710722

Didn’t plan it this way but this is honestly the best way to trick a bunch of you into thinking I made it to state in the two-mile.

Alright so I just tried to look up the thread from my other account, but apparently this happened before threads existed, so I'll try to re-tell it here:

STORY TIME: how I made a series of dumb decisions that led to me running for my life in Istanbul. (1/??)

This was Feb. 2015. It was my last tour as a musician — a few countries in Europe and a few days in Israel, which involved a ~17-hour overnight layover in Istanbul. I got to the hostel around 9-10, and probably should have gone to bed, but it was my *one night* in Istanbul.

I find a cool little bar near the hostel & find myself hanging out with a guy from S. Korea. He's great! We still follow each other on Instagram. About 11:30 or so, another guy, probably mid-40s(?) joins the table. He's from Serbia & tells us his name is Jimmy.

My Korean friend heads home around 12:30, and here is where I made my first very bad decision. I should also have gone home! But one of my favorite things about touring (especially overseas) is talking to strangers and sharing stories. So I hang with Jimmy for a bit longer.

It's getting *late* and I tell my Serbian friend I need to get home. "But wait," he says. "If you only have one night in town, you have to come see the best bar in this city. It's my favorite place."

"Is it even still open?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, it's open all night," he says.

TIME FOR A SECOND BAD DECISION: I shrug and decide to check it out. When will I ever get another chance to see the best bar in Istanbul? I assume it's walking distance.

Friends, it is not walking distance. We get in a cab and drive 15 minutes east.

We get to the place, and it's… *not* the best bar in Istanbul. It's mostly empty, there's crappy euro-dance music playing, and the tables have red pleather seats. It's loud.

But I don't want to insult my new friend's taste, so I offer to buy the first round.

He waves me off.

The bartender comes and brings:
- 2 beers
- champage
- two of the other denizens of the bar to sit with us.

Now here's where you're probably thinking "Levi, there's only one reason a bartender would bring two girls to sit at your table at a 24-hour bar"

YEAH, I KNOW NOW

The conversation is somewhat stilted, but just as I'm about to make my exit, Jimmy orders another round. "Okay," I say, but with my body language, I try to make it obvious that I mean this next part: "But I need to get back, I have a lot of stuff I want to see tomorrow."

So I get through it and tell everyone I've had a lovely night, but I need to be getting home. The bartender brings the bill and hands it to me.

I do some quick math and realize that I am expected to pay roughly $1,200.

I am immediately sober, realizing what has happened.