Solange’s visual album for “When I Get Home” was a toast not just to black culture, but to black American southern culture, afrofuturism, and the rise of the weird black girl.
Just by chance, I was able to make my way down to D.C. to be apart of history. Here is what that week-long endeavor was like.
Somewhere between a diner and “dame más gasolina,” we paid £10 to listen to 50 Cent.
Grab a coffee from The Dayrooms Café when you’re feeling bougie.
“We solve crimes. I blog about it; he forgets his pants. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”
Spoiler alert: it is not the pub.
(or: the one where an American eats baked beans for breakfast!)
Thanksgiving in England turned out way better than I expected, given the irony of it all.
We already knew we wouldn’t be able to find collard greens.
The civil unrest isn’t nearly as bad as you’d think.