In which NBA money allows for certain sartorial touches.

Kobe Bryant's onyx sunglasses are actual stone and shut out all light from helicopter pad to Staples locker room.

Phil Jackson's book of pocket verse is clad in soft, virgin lambskin, tanned black, its pages illuminated with dense hand-brushed calligraphy.

Adam Morrison's cotton-blend underwear is Celtic green with white piping, a white #33 ironed-on one cheek and a five-pointed leaf ironed-on the other.

Luke Walton's fanny pack is a Guatemalan weave of purple and yellow. It has custom pockets to hold the plastic packs of ketchup that Luke compulsively sucks on throughout the day.

The Prince of Darkness, if by mocking contrast, dresses plain: charcoal black slacks and a brisk black silk shirt open two buttons below the collar. His shoes seem modest, worn Puma Clydes, but they once belonged to Walt Frazier himself.

Audaciously, Dracula drapes a navy blazer over the seat next to him, a threat to clash with everything and everyone. The buttons are tarnished gold, emblazoned with ruby-eyed dragons. In the breast pocket of the blazer is folded scrap of incandescent red jersey cloth.

Beyonce Knowles bounced to the saved seat and kitten cuddled in the navy blazer. Dracula sought Jay-Z's stare across the court and spit in perfect time:

"You paid 3? I get it all, free."

Sitting next to the rapper, the Russian billionaire and Nets owner Mikhail Prokhorov wept while compulsively making a backwards sign of the cross. Dracula smirked as he remembered the generations tributes offered by the boy's village.

Dracula yawned and pulled the iPhone 6G from his black leather carry-all. When Kobe threw down a dunk and sought to point some props to his Master, Dracula was busy tweeting:

@ Staples Another tiresome Game 7. Waiting for Game 8.