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CCCV is a drink containing Bacardi rum and Jupiña, and it is mad good. CCCV is graduating from Yale with 305 shaved into your dome, a fade at the Kennedy Center, T-Pain and Juanes calling a 786 number to direct their next video. CCCV is not Miami Vice. CCCV is not Bad Boys 2. CCCV is not Burn Notice or Scarface. CCCV is what the best artists in the world miss when they work in New York and Los Angeles and Berlin. CCCV is a cautionary tale. CCCV is not reggaeton, but it could be. CCCV has Liberty City in flames and the Freedom Tower overcrowded and “will the last American to leave Miami please bring the flag” and the dead Tequesta and the bleeding out of the Everglades in the back of it’s mind. CCCV is la lucha, perpetually. CCCV is Fitzgerald, Trick Daddy, Nietzsche, D-Wade, Marti, Quicktime Codecs and theoretical physics over a game of dominos, bro. CCCV is getting the hell out of here but never really leaving.