He stares out the window that faces the street; it’s a still December night—no traffic, no sirens, no obnoxious noise or light. Across the street, a string of colored Christmas lights wrapped around a porch railing glow beneath a blanket of thick snow. He’d rather be on the can reading Richard Wilbur. He turns back to the class.

In the front row Stevens spots Dana, the notorious overachiever, pretending to read Finnegans Wake.

Stevens spots the voice’s owner—a skinny young man in a Bob Dylan t-shirt, skin-tight jeans, and checkerboard-patterned Vans sneakers. Stevens looks down at his class roster.

Stevens scowls and shakes his head, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and mutters something under his breath about the “catastrophe of modernism” before turning toward the chalkboard.

He strolls into his classroom wearing his uniform—faded black jeans that sag in the rear and a worn fleece pullover.