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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