A friend invites me to a reading at the New School, and I arrive only a few minutes before the start time. She’s texted me that it’s crowded, but that she’s managed to save me a seat. The reading is on the 5th floor, and as I enter the lobby I see a cluster of people ahead of me squeezing into the elevator. It’s completely packed when I arrive, and as I watch the doors close in front of me, a security guard steps up to the elevator waiving his arms. ‘That’s all folks, no more people can go upstairs. It’s full.’ I start to protest that my friends are already there, holding a seat for me, but it’s of no use. ‘Sorry, no more.’ It’s non-negotiable. With slumped shoulders I trudge out of the building and down 11th Street. What to do now? Kill time until the reading’s over then meet up with my friends? But how long will the reading take? Undecided, I head to the Strand to peruse books. While I’m there I text my friend, explaining that I couldn’t get in. I don’t find a book, but as I’m leaving I happen to glance at my phone: she’s texted me a while ago, stating that she’s in the lobby looking for me. It’s already been ten minutes, and I’m at least seven or eight minutes from the New School. Again, it’s no use – I won’t catch her there. Now thoroughly dejected I walk all the way back to the F train and head off to my studio.