I came across them one night, sitting in the grass at Kanawha Plaza. Two men, buckets stacked like makeshift toms, a lone snare resting in one lap, framed by the warm glow skyline of downtown Richmond. Beside them, a sign made the economics clear: VENMO DRUMKEEM....
We stepped down the cobblestone steps, our backs to that gothic tower of bricks seeing us off into a damp night. Jesse’s face was blue as he stared down into his phone and said: C’mon, I think it’s this way. It’s west? I asked. No, it’s in this direct—I mean...