Shouts out to Combat Jack for hosting a Saturday barbecue on Grand Street in Brooklyn, where I was delightfully poisoned by a booze slushee that the caterer called "a Rihanna." Forty ounces deep and $63.38 in total Uber fare later, I was upright and exhausted on 144th Street, furious that a southbound M101 just zoomed past me like that, in literally my darkest hour. I was bumping that Barter 6 in my headphones, however, and all was right with the world.

Justin Charity is a writer for Complex. Follow him @brothernumpsa.

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