Throughout all five boroughs of NYC, bodegas remain the staple of each hood’s cultural umbrella. Bodegas are literally a cornerstone. It’s where you can buy artisan/domestic/”imported” beers, handballs, loosies, varieties of nuts, ginseng shots, arguable erection pills, $1 bamboo, plantains you mistake for bananas, fucking bacon-egg-&-cheese, that Highbridge low-low, newspapers not in a real language; hours round noon-time or crack-of-dawn, within between. AceMoMA stay in the caffeinated spirited section, where the energy lays in the coagulation of culture, expanding from the inside out, the Yemenies mans behind the counter asking for ID and whether this is something they even stock.

The fucking fade on Tyson is what won the aural soul out Spinks. It’s insane how chucking Mike’s neckline hit his dome. Like, he already been to the ring today. Multiple times today, pop. Uncle. Uncle Spinks. And you been chilling out the corner store after the graveyard shift you kept for three decades now, all friends. Laughs. Then they see you beat by a Nintendo character: undisputed truth. AceMoMa seals another ticket into black movements upon all our eager ears. Ready to move in the name of what makes us all tick. Motherbeat is a banshee. Cryptic sway of how your shoulders tassel is more hereditary to be distributed. The dance move you create in 2019 lasts for two years on Tik-Tok.

AceMoMa EP by AceMo, MoMa Ready, AceMoMa

The punch-by-punch analysis is what’s up for gamble, forever. Like claiming AceMoMa EP is a 4/5 on TMT is just another bit of publication that our website brought to readers. To me: AceMo is the skater who does the trick you never could, and MoMa Ready be behind him on the rail, goofy foot, flipping a kick-to-heel switch. A move idea AceMoMa should pursue is one told purely through the dialogue of dance. Not that the characters respond to each other in interpretive dance, but glimpses of nights at the club. The bullet to bite is more necessity. The language spoken from speakers bumping out a basement in Ridgewood completes the counterculture to what comes next in human aesthetics.

Throughout all five boroughs of NYC, bodegas remain the staple of each hood’s cultural umbrella. Bodegas are literally a cornerstone. It’s where you can buy artisan/domestic/”imported” beers, handballs, loosies, varieties of nuts, ginseng shots, arguable erection pills, $1 bamboo, plantains you mistake for bananas, fucking bacon-egg-&-cheese, that Highbridge low-low, newspapers not in a real language; hours round noon-time or crack-of-dawn, within between. AceMoMA stay in the caffeinated spirited section, where the energy lays in the coagulation of culture, expanding from the inside out, the Yemenies mans behind the counter asking for ID and whether this is something they even stock.

The fucking fade on Tyson is what won the aural soul out Spinks. It’s insane how chucking Mike’s neckline hit his dome. Like, he already been to the ring today. Multiple times today, pop. Uncle. Uncle Spinks. And you been chilling out the corner store after the graveyard shift you kept for three decades now, all friends. Laughs. Then they see you beat by a Nintendo character: undisputed truth. AceMoMa seals another ticket into black movements upon all our eager ears. Ready to move in the name of what makes us all tick. Motherbeat is a banshee. Cryptic sway of how your shoulders tassel is more hereditary to be distributed. The dance move you create in 2019 lasts for two years on Tik-Tok.

AceMoMa EP by AceMo, MoMa Ready, AceMoMa

The punch-by-punch analysis is what’s up for gamble, forever. Like claiming AceMoMa EP is a 4/5 on TMT is just another bit of publication that our website brought to readers. To me: AceMo is the skater who does the trick you never could, and MoMa Ready be behind him on the rail, goofy foot, flipping a kick-to-heel switch. A move idea AceMoMa should pursue is one told purely through the dialogue of dance. Not that the characters respond to each other in interpretive dance, but glimpses of nights at the club. The bullet to bite is more necessity. The language spoken from speakers bumping out a basement in Ridgewood completes the counterculture to what comes next in human aesthetics.