CITY COLLEGE–I sat with Mike Holober in his office, Shepard Hall 175. My knees bounced against the chair. My fingers tapped the desk, stopped, and started again. Sweat built under my hoodie and leather biker jacket, trapped between layers I hadn’t thought through. The room was spacious. A classic piano sat in the center, untouched. Sheets of paper were everywhere, on desks, chairs, the floor, nothing stacked neatly.
“Have you listened to jazz before?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said. “I listened to the Whiplash soundtrack.”
His eyes widened. His face went dead. The CCNY music professor did not look impressed.
