Story Time: Mischief Managed… Barely.

Bout 7:45 p.m.: Wading through a sea of people, trying to get between stages in time to see Solange. It was hella niggas and for a minute, the traffic was standstill. If I wasn’t high I probably would’ve had a nervous break down. Crowds were never my thing.

So after making it back to the Green Stage, Reuben and I opted to just stay there. Neither of us were willing to go through that crowd again to go back to see SZA. Fuck it.

We smoked a joint and waited for Sampha.

He’s a helluva live performer.

Bout 8:00 p.m.: Sampha wraps up. Now it’s time for Solange, who’s set to come on at 8:30.

Sidebar: We only had Saturday passes. I had to be in class on Monday and Reu had to go to work. We bought bus tickets to head back to D.C. for 1:30 a.m. My flight was at 8:30 the next morning. The bus ride is four hours long. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Bout 8:20 p.m.: Bill DeBlasio rolls his ass up on stage and from the way the crowd was acting, he ain’t too popular with the black folks of New York. He talks for about five minutes about how Afropunk is “the best event around,” and leaves. Mind you, he comes on right before Solange, I’m guessing, for maximum nigga viewing potential. The crowd wasn’t here for his Hoover vac impersonation.

I don’t know much about Bill’s political goings on in NY, but that was a political stunt if I ever saw one.

8:45 p.m.: Solange still isn’t on. Technical difficulties.

Reu and I still have to Uber back to Williamsburg, get our things from the place we were crashing at, and catch the subway back to Time Square where our bus is leaving from.

9:00 p.m.: Solange finally comes on. We only have time to stay for two songs before we have to fight through the crowd again to beat the rush of people leaving and blocking up traffic.

At this point, my phone is dead. Reuben’s is on like 10%. We still need to order the Uber.

9:45 p.m. Our attempts to beat the crowd and miss the traffic failed. Barry Commodore Park is surrounded on all sides by bumper-to-bumper traffic. Reu’s phone: 5%. No Uber. My phone’s still dead.

10:00 p.m.: A good, albeit shady, samaritan whips a charger out of his fanny pack and lets Reuben charge his phone so we could order the Uber.

Bout 10:25 p.m.:Back in Williamsburg. But bitch, where’s my phone? In the fucking Uber.

We call him. He’s picked up another passenger already.

We wait.

In the meantime, we gather our shit so that when the Uber driver brings my phone back, we can hit the subway. Time is of the mother fucking essence.

11:00 p.m.: Uber guy pulls up, returns my phone, and we power walk to the next subway stop.

Bout 12:15 a.m.: We finally make it to Time Square with an hour to spare.

BITCH.

That morning we rolled four joints. We smoked three at Afropunk. Reuben kept the forth one in his sock. God knew we would need it.

We found the bus stop, got some food from McDonald’s, and found a nice lil spot off in the cut to smoke that last J.

1:15 a.m.: We board the bus to D.C.

Nigga, we made it.

Bout 5:45 a.m.: We make it to D.C. Reuben calls an Uber to take him to his apartment. I call an Uber to take me to the airport.

Mischief Managed. Barely.

 

 

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