text: I’m sorry Mr. Allen. You missed it. It’s too late. The words struck me deep in the throat. This was supposed to be my future. This was supposed to make everything better. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? I knew begging would only hurt my chances, but I was desperate for this. No, as I said, it’s too late. You can go home now. I wanted to strangle the lady. I knew she had nothing to do with it and was just the messenger, but I wanted to strangle her nonetheless. I wanted to strangle my cab driver who wouldn’t drive over 30 even though I told him I’d tip him double if he ran the speed limit. I gave him one star as some sort of payback. I wanted to strangle the man at the front desk of the hotel who gave me problems with my credit card for thirty minutes. I almost screamed at him when after so long of arguing, his manager showed him that I was right. More than anything, I wanted to strangle myself. Somewhere in my head I knew it wasn’t the man at the front desk’s fault that I missed this, nor was the uber drivers, and it was especially not the lady telling me I was too late’s fault. I’m to blame as always. I walked out of the building. I lit up a cigarette and took a long inhale. More than anything, the cigarettes were a stress reliever thing. I find myself smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk more often nowadays. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. God New York smells awful. When I breathed out through my mouth, just like my therapist taught me, a cloud of smoke emerged. During the winter when I was younger, I’d pretend like I was smoking whenever the air was cold enough to turn to breathe vapor. I took another hit of the cigarette and flicked it to the street. I’m sure no one will notice it. Ok. Now what? I’ve spent so much time preparing for today, I never thought about what I would do if it didn’t work out--so many nights of preparing jokes and speeches, all for naught. Looking around the streets of Manhattan, I noticed that it was snowing, very lightly. I used to love the snow. When I was with Harlene, it meant fireplace, hot chocolate, and snuggling under a warm blanket. Now, it meant terrible great memories. Does anything mean anything, I thought for the hundredth time as I aimlessly strolled the streets. I always place meaning in the stupidest things. But sometimes I’m right, I countered to myself. Remember Jared? Harlene said that he was just a friend from work, but you knew there was something else there. But that’s why we broke up, wasn’t it? Harlene’s voice asked in my head. You were so paranoid, so fixed on making sure we stayed together, that you neglected our own happiness. Jesus Christ, I’m going crazy. I squeezed my eyes shut and kicked Harlene out. For now. She always found a way back in. I stopped outside a coffee shop. Fuck it, I told myself and walked in. I ordered a hot latte and sat down at one of the tables. I used to come to coffee shops just like this one with my notes to write my script. I spent so long on that goddamn script. That’s what made missing this meeting hurt so much. I was writing for my one golden opportunity. This was my one chance. “Woody? I have a latte for Woody?” I got my coffee, tipped the barista, and walked out into the streets of New York. I was still young, but I fucked up. I guess success isn’t meant for everyone. There’s always the factory job.