Sunset Avenue

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So I wake up at 5:30 this morning in my Milwaukee hotel. Alarm goes off, hit it, goes off again 10 minutes later.

Damn.

Climb out of bed, quick shower, put on a suit and tie. The room is warm and toasty and lovely. The outside is cold and wet and nasty. First stop on the day’s media blitz—a live in-studio interview at WKLH-FM. I drive through the dark, rainy Milwaukee morn. Turn right, turn left, up a street, a highway, another turn. It takes me 30 minutes to reach Sunset Avenue, and I speed to the address because I’m a minute or two late.

Then I arrive. And Sunset Avenue is all houses. It’s suburbia, and nothing more. I have a number for the producer. I dial it. He answers.

Me: “So I think I’m at the wrong place, but I drove to the studio address.”

Him: “What’s the address?”

Me: “Blah blah blah Sunset Avenue …”

Him: “Oh.”

Me: “What?”

Him: “You were given my home address by mistake.”

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