After a particularly good rehearsal from which I leave buzzing lightly and newly optimistic about our prospects, Ray and I ride the subways downtown from his place in Harlem. At one stop, two drummers heave into the car, hoisting conga drums and foldable chairs behind them, which they set up in the pseudo-vestibule before beginning their patter.
"Keep the energy up and full of love," says the one in the skullcap with the star of David dangling down onto his forehead while the other adjusts his drums and smiles widely, "because it comes back down to you amplified."
They beat their drums in a groove reminiscent of "Oye Como Va" and I give them a dollar as they leave.
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