Me, this morning,  frantically shouting at my agent’s assistant through my phonecar: HEY, SORRY, WHERE IS THIS MEETING?

Agent’s Assistant:…Joan’s on Third.

Me: YES I KNOW, BUT WHERE IS IT

Agent’s Assistant: on Third.

Me: BUT WHAT STREET?

Agent’s Assistant:…..On third.

Me: WHAT?

Agent’s Assistant: …Third Street.

(Beat.)

Me: OH RIGHT SORRY. I’VE HIT JUST A LITTLE BIT OF TRAFFIC JUST PLEASE JUST GIVE THEM A HEADS UP THAT I’LL BE SEVEN AND A HALF HOURS LATE. PLEASE APOLOGIZE FOR ME, AND HAVE THEM ORDER ME A DECAF ALMOND MILK LATTE, AND A SMALL CABIN TUCKED IN THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH CAROLINA, PERHAPS BY A STREAM, WHERE I CAN LIVE OUT MY DAYS AND NEVER HAVE TO GET IN A CAR OR SPEAK ON A PHONECAR EVER, EVER AGAIN.

Agent’s Assistant: Will do?

Me: WAIT, WHICH THIRD