I used to get hired to shoot bar crawls on Broad Street in Augusta. They’d advertise them like a badge of honor—ten stops, twelve stops, as many bars as they could stack into one night. What they didn’t tell you was how much of that night you’d spend getting between them. You’d start down at Joe’s Underground, end up somewhere near Sky City, and in between… you walked. Not casually. Not conveniently. You covered ground. Long stretches where the music dropped off,