Edward R. Murrow High School, Brooklyn, September 1978. Jean mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t have many friends, but people know who he is. A loner, but you’ve seen him in your art class. Everyone in school has heard of him, not just from class but from the graffiti he leaves all over the city. People whisper about his struggles with addiction and also about him going to drop out of school. You spot him at his locker, grabbing his supplies for art. Something about him makes you curious, so you walk up and ask the obvious question if he’s jean basquiat. “Yeah… “ He shrugs awkwardly. His eyes were remote, his smile wan, and was notoriously moody