Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [click, static] [stray morse beeps] [click] Birdie??? Birdie, are you there? [click, static] Birdie.  Do you read? [click, static] Goddammit.  I could have sworn that I heard… [click, static] I was tuning through the channels and there were beeps that sounded like you. Like you were trying to send something.  [click, static] (sighs) Maybe I’m imagining things. Wanting to hear from you.  (laughs) You know, it sort of reminds me of sitting by the phone waiting for a date to call, or whatever.  Not that I ever did that much dating, but I remember the first time I had a genuinely good date, I was twenty-one, living in that terrible shoebox apartment with a million other people, and I went on this date with this—uh, they were a friend of a friend of a friend, one of those set ups that happens when you’re in your twenties and you know a ton of people but you don’t really know any of them. Did you experience that? (mumbling) I guess I don’t even know how old you are.  Anyway, I’d met a bunch of people through my roommates and my job and a few of the bars that I would frequent and I had this one friend, Sissy, who made it her life’s mission to set everyone in the world up. It didn’t matter how tenuous the connection between her and the two parties were, she was shameless anyway.  So she set me up with—lets call them “K”. K worked on Wall Street, which made me immediately suspicious but Sissy assured me that they were cool because the friend that she knew them through was a choreographer and had good taste in people. I don’t know, I agreed because, again, really lonely and also I thought if K was a Wall Street person, maybe I’d get dinner at a really fancy restaurant out of it, somewhere I could order a twenty dollar glass of wine or something.  But it wasn’t like that at all. K took me to get gyros at this street vendor that they swore was the best food in the city. And it was pretty good and K paid, so I was plenty happy. And then we went to a jazz club where they knew the owner, so we got the best seats and really good service and…I don’t know. It was nice, to be somewhere that treated you like you were special.  And that all would’ve been enough for me to go out with K again—I was twenty-one and dead broke, I would’ve gone on as many dates as I could if it meant I got a free meal or a good night on the town. But, much to my surprise, I had fun. Sissy had been right. K was funny, and smart—one of those people you’d never run out of things to talk about with. I hadn’t really experienced that before.  So we exchanged numbers at the end of the date—kissed on the cheek to say goodbye, I think maybe we were both nervous—and I waited by the phone for days. I drove my roommates insane—any time I came home from work I’d hound them about if anyone had called when I was gone. We didn’t have a phone service, so we were pretty reliant on one of us being home at all times, which usually someone was. But there was nothing.  Eventually I just bit the bullet and I called K—who did have a phone service, of course, which is what I got when I called. It’s what I got every time I called. And I’d leave my name and number with the service every time—even starting saying when I’d be likely to be home so they could tell K when was best to call back and…the phone stayed silent.  [click, static] Please don’t stop answering my calls. Or, if you do, at least give me a reason. K never did.  [click, static]