The audience is sixteen and up, but not by much. They belt the lyrics along with him, while trying to hold still long enough to film clips of their otherworldly hero making a special appearance on Earth. The crowd has been mobile the entire evening, seizing the theatre like a high-school assembly where the principal never shows: darting from seat to seat, sprawling on the floor, cuddling in dim corners, dancing by themselves, throwing shoes, lighting joints, dodging security guards, sweating, screaming when they feel like it. Near the merch booth, a young man is swarmed when he unveils a box of pizza that he had somehow smuggled past the ticket scanners. Tidbits rise above the din: “What school do you go to?”; “I think I feel it hitting me now.” Back inside, a couple is arm in arm. The boy sports a backward baseball cap from Kith; the girl sways with willow-straight hair. They pass a vape pen back and forth. “I know a lot of y’all are young and in school and all that,” Thug says. “But make some noise if everything you do is ’bout the money!” Their arms shoot up, and then tangle into each other’s.
16 year old kids?
Cuddling in dim corners ?
Throwing shoes ?
Screaming for no reason ?
Dancing by they self ?
Wtf

Justin Bieber, Young Thug, and Guarding the New Guard - The New Yorker