The island sounds started several subway stops before the parade. A young man, barely in his teens, began drumming on a railing, using his palms and fingers like he knew what he was doing. He only lasted for a few minutes, but he provided a taste of what was to come.

New York’s West Indian Day Parade. One of the largest such gatherings in the world. A day where reggae ruled the streets and flags of a dozen island nations snapped in the breeze. A day when meat smokers made of large cans perfumed the air. A day when everyone, even a white guy who wouldn’t touch the goat curry could maybe, just maybe, have a little bit of rhythm.