There was a rejection letter waiting for me today, but I was just happy to get any mail at all; I spent a minute alone in a coat room with Rhett Miller, I tried not to swoon; I strained to listen while a white-haired old man talked to me about a film, Little Fugitive, because his accent was difficult and he was with his even more elderly mother and I wanted to be polite; I showed up late for drinks and by that point everyone had moved on to food; I came home alone.