If the day requires levity and focus, then what does the night require? Manic revelry. Dark and electric not warm and celebratory. How to transform yawns into sweet panic? You will need the following:

Friends. Tired but willing ones.

A small core of explorers.

Suds.

Protective footwear.

Clearly stated objectives.

Folsom prison escapee. Barefoot with banjo.

Church Key.

Up Periscope.

Repeat

Repeat.

Brooks, who took the lead early, began exclaiming that this moment had been ‘25 years in the making motherfuckers’ (he is 22) and wondered aloud: ‘I Graduated College. Where the fuck is my party?’ He is Fury, Ty is Mirth.

Anthony pictured here as Mild Insanity, early onset.

Dave.

More suds.

Even more

Than even pictured.

Junk in the trunk.

Water now. It’s almost dawn.

The night could have been over, it would have been fine. It would have been enough.

But instead, there were fire spinners, as if randomly, walking down the side of the road. In Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Early in the morning. Spinning fire. And Spitting it.

They call themselves the “Burn Brothaz–with an AZ so it sticks out a little more”.

Burn on, dudes. Whatever makes you happy.

Cheerwine makes me happy.

Cheerwine, and Justin.