Behind the building, opposite the construction work, I could see the window of my new office. I climbed the fire escape to the fifth-floor ledge. Through the grease-smeared window I saw a small room, empty save for a scratched-up metal desk, a few cardboard boxes, two busted computer monitors and a scattering of paper clips, pencils and dustballs on the desk and floor. Also on the desk were several cassette tapes and a stack of papers. By the placement of the type on the top sheet of paper, I recognized it as my resume.

The doors of the TALENT AGENCY never again opened, except when the police forced their way in, acting on the complaints of several bands who found themselves hundreds of miles from home, vans full of equipment, in clubs whose managers had never heard of them.