Typing in Circles : A Jesse Eisenberg fanfiction

1

I rubbed my face frantically. The clock on the bottom right hand of my computer read: 2:35am. I couldn't get to sleep until this act was finished in some essence. Of all the things in the world I could be cursing about, I was mortifyingly frustrated with the lack of words typed on this document. I feel as if though I've been rewriting this play for decades. I almost considered hiring an agent, given the fact that they'd possibly have more 'ins' than I could ever dream of having. It seemed like a waste of money though. As a playwright, I'm told I don't need a conniving agent to maintain contracts and find producers for me. That's debatable.
I flicked the room's light on and made my way down the hallway to get a snack from the kitchen. I stopped. A large bug sat contently in the middle of the hallway. I felt my muscles cringe. These black motherfuckers were the grossest things I've ever had the misfortune of greeting. Here, in New York, this worthless apartment couldn't seem to keep them away. Oh, how I hated it here in Manhattan. It was crowded, and the whole vibe given off by the stench of the city reeked of arrogance. After squishing, and disposing of, the little bastard I made my way successfully to the kitchen. I thought about it. What would make the perfect 'after two in the morning' snack? I was torn between popcorn and chips.
Popcorn it was. From upstairs, I heard my cell phone ringing. Who in their right minds would be calling at this hour? The only answer that crossed my mind was a drunken friend. Did I have any that would be out tonight? It's Tuesday for crying out loud, which means, it was technically, as people refer to it, a Monday night. As the popcorn popped diligently in the microwave, I ran upstairs. The number was unknown, so I cleared my throat in preparation of the formal greeting I was going to give.

"Hello, Evelyn Corrigan."
"Miss. Corrigan! Hello! This is Andy Steele. How are you this morning?"
"This morning? I suppose tired. How are you?" There was a subtle pause, as if my answer was mundane.
"Oh! Oh no! I am so sorry! Did I wake you? You see, I'm currently in London and I must have let my excitement take away from realizing you're six hours behind me!"
"I, uh, no you didn't wake me. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Of course, right. I will be flying in to New York in a few hours, and was hoping you had some spare time. I am a producer. I've read your latest draft of 'Luck Of Yesterday'."
"I've actually started rewriting-"
"Scrap it! We need to get you a cast and director. I would like to sponsor the production in New York." There was another pause as I let it sink in.

"A cast?"
"And director. I have someone in mind; he's flying with me to New York. He just staged his own play production. It was a real kicker!"
"Do you need-"
"To meet you? Of course I do! How about I swing on by? Say later this evening? You are in Manhattan aren't you?"
"Unfortunately" I mumbled.
"What was that?"
"I am. Yes, I am."
"Okay great!"

I spoke my address as clearly as I could to him, and jotted his phone number down on a piece of paper I had unwrinkled.

"I will see you around, eh, let's seven your time? I should be landing around five o clock."
"Yeah, yeah sure. That's quite the flight, are you sure you want to do this tonight?"
"Nonsense! We live on no sleep. Have some coffee brewed, I'll survive!"
"Right, of course." I nodded even though he couldn't see me.

The dial tone took over. I couldn't believe it. I stared at the words on the screen. I could scrap this hopeless effort to better this play. It was up for grabs in the industry. Or would be soon enough. I shut down the computer, it made a few noises as it came to a silence. My head hit the pillow, and almost instantaneously, I fell asleep.