In Hot Fun in Flint, Michigan, Alkēbulan delivers a visual requiem for joy against a backdrop of institutional neglect. A baroque cascade of waterfalls—equal parts fantasy and fever dream—streams through a dense tenement sprawl, as barefoot youth baptize themselves in syrup-colored waters. The piece merges pastoral ecstasy with environmental indictment: a utopia leaking from poisoned pipes. The brownish hue of the pool is not just metaphor—it is memory, sedimented with betrayal. Yet the bodies glisten, unbothered, defiant. This isn’t a lament. It’s a remix. Children of a forgotten city turn lead and rust into choreography. Flint becomes Florence. The ruins become a resort. Alkēbulan crafts an architecture of absurd beauty—equal parts dystopian Venice and postcolonial paradise. And still, the current runs deeper than aesthetics: it’s a statement about survival, play, contamination, and Black transcendence through joy.