Dear Dave,

Here’s a little story that must be told…

In the early months of 2005, I was visiting a friend in Manhattan. First day in town, I met with a college buddy for lunch wherein we discussed celebrities we’d like to meet. I said if I just had the chance to speak with Dave Chappelle… to thank him… that would be IT for me. After lunch, I said my “good to see you too,” put De La on the iPod, and began the easterly trek on 29th Street toward my girl’s apartment.

First time in Manhattan. Stakes Is High in my ears. Round about the time I got to Lexington, I was feeling pretty good about my strut. Then… I see a dude down the block, lighting a cigarette. He looks up, pulls his hoodie low and starts walking my way.

“Is… is that…?? Nah…” I think to myself. “Ho. Lee. Shit. It is. It’s Dave Chappelle.”

Over the next 5-10 seconds, I flipped a quick succession of questions on how to react. I was JUST talking about you. This was the IT for me.

“Should I say something? No, I… no. Should I… whoa. He’s looking at me. He’s looking me dead in my eyeballs. Smile, LC. For the love of the Lord in heaven above, smile.”

I smiled and you smiled back.

And you nodded. And I shat myself.

And we passed.

My friends were mad that I didn’t say anything. But what was I going to say that would have made a difference? You weren’t going to remember me and I was pretty confident the only reason you acknowledged me at all was because I didn’t say anything.

Skip ahead and that brings us here. To The Smoking Section – for me, the best forum for good Hip-Hop since Chappelle’s Show. From Dead Prez’s “Hip Hop” at the top of the show, to Kanye and Common murdering “The Food,” your show exposed viewers to music they couldn’t and wouldn’t get elsewhere. Need I even mention the depth and importance of Block Party? And that’s just one of the reasons I want to thank you.

That said, I’m here to ask you for an interview. No, a conversation.

You can rest assured this request comes from an organic place, on account of I stand to gain nothing other than a life goal fulfilled. I’m not going to get paid for it, and the only thing I can offer you is the promise we won’t talk about anything you don’t want to or anything you’ve discussed other places. On some real Loren Michaels to the Beatles type shit… I’m just putting it out there.

Look, I named my damn dog Dylan. Not “dill-en.” DY-lon.

Now you understand where I’m coming from. Outside of God, my family, Outkast and Detroit, you’re at the top of my list. Even over my friends – fuck’em… they probably like you more than me too. And I know I’m not alone when I say you’re missed on the regular.

You know I could go on for hours – quote you or some bullshit – but just like that day on the street, I feel like less is probably more.

Hit me up @ TSSCrew AT gmail.com. Let’s go!

Here’s hoping this finds you,

LC