Cavaradossi’s Bullets
by John Broening (April 2013)
Though I secretly wanted the approval of the old-fashioned professors, I was lazy enough to end up taking most of my classes with the progressive group.
Real bullets, I thought.
I looked out the window. I could see the fruit on the gingko trees that were everywhere on campus. The appearance of these foul-smelling berries signaled the end of spring, and, for me, the imminence of my own graduation.
I rarely touched a piano after that day. But I think of Professor Shulman often, and almost with affection.
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