Ghetto Hipster Mixtape

Somewhere between Friday night and Saturday morning—the exact hour genuinely lost to me—I traded a bag of McDonald’s and an oversized spiked Coke for a handwritten note from a group of ghetto-hipster girls outside a bar. The note had hearts and skulls and a scattering of drawn penises across it, and listed the favorite songs of Lauren, Nesrin, Daria, and the heavyset blonde whose name I never caught and whose taste in music, it turned out, was not exactly her strongest quality. That’s the playlist. That’s the mixtape.