As seen in the October 2010 issue of DRUM! magazine.
Chad Gracey breathes in. He takes a deep one, inhaling until the rushing air begins pushing against his diaphragm, expanding his chest and prompting the rise of his muscled shoulders.
He shouldn’t, really — standing on this street corner in New York City’s bustling Midtown business district, there’s nothing to breathe in but the thick exhaust of roaring commercial trucks and the pungent fumes from the hot asphalt beneath his feet, glistening in the midday summer sun.
But Gracey can’t help it, and he grins. He’s thinking about last April, when he had an epiphany.
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