You’ve seen this spectacle before. A squatter camp of teens and twenty-somethings in the freshest kicks are penned in by metal barricades along the sidewalk. The red in their eyes is an equal mix of sleepless weary and anxious anticipation. They’ve been waiting feverishly overnight, some even for days, for a chance to cop those new old Jordans, that hyped up hoodie, that crisp white tee. It’s any given Saturday at Foot Locker, any given Thursday at Supreme. You scurry away in fear that it might turn ugly.