Stephen Mejias

The wind rushed hard and cold as I emerged from the Columbus Circle station.

It takes a moment to find your place. Be careful to follow the curves. There are long twisting streaks of red and white light, tall glass buildings rocketing high into the night sky, vehicles and tourists and locals moving in every direction. Search for Broadway, search for 60th. Turn slowly until you see the sign:

JAZZ AT LINCOLN CENTER
ROSE HALL

You'll see it. Once you're inside, take about ten steps forward and turn right. An older, well-dressed woman will press the button for the fifth floor, but won't notice that the elevator doors are already open and waiting for you. Step in. Say something about the weather. Make a joke about Norwegian jazz.

"Cool."

The elevator doors will open in no time. Step out, and follow your instincts, follow the curves. There's not a straight line in the place. Check your coat and heavy bag at the door and follow the curves.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"I believe I'm on the guestlist."

"Whose guestlist?"

"Arturo O'Farrill's. My name is Stephen Mejias."

"Yes. Right this way, sir. Follow me."