Nathan’s college experience begins exactly the way every great coming-of-age story doesn’t: hydroplaning into Connecticut while contemplating his own obsolescence, unloading into a dorm that smells like a JC Penney crime scene, and getting tackled by a roommate named Gabe who unironically calls him “Cheese.” Somewhere between existential dread, MIND chip propaganda, and a mountain of laundry, Nathan tries to remember why he came here in the first place.

With a bowl packed, her shoes off, and the lights low, Eve slips into her night-before-classes ritual—thirteen songs to cleanse the spirit, mute the dread, and pretend, just for a little while, that she doesn’t want to pull the covers over her head and hibernate until spring break.

October ‘96. One CD wallet, 300 discs, and a brain too wired to sleep. D.C. builds a late-night mix that goes sideways—in a good way.