First the cop is like You did what?, and I'm like, Well . . . I guess I slugged him. And he's, You guess you slugged him? Meanwhile, Blat's totally out cold on the tiles. I had to step over him to get to the phone. He's six foot something, must weigh 275, 280, 50 of it in his gut alone. Two lines of blood spilling out his nose, he's starting to look like the opening shot on Law and Order; NYPD Blue body-on-the-street shot, with a puddle of blood around his head. You know who Blat looks like? He looks like Tony Soprano whacked out on Lithium and Prozac. You know what I'm talking about? Okay, never mind. He's looking like shit on the floor. I'm trying to explain to the cop, who finally goes, Just let me talk to him. So I tell him, Well, You can't really do that. He's Why not? I'm, Well, He's sort of unconscious.

Quiet. Okay. He sounds pissed. Where are you?

I tell him, Wicksham Hall 218.

What's your name?

Charmaine Cleary.

Quiet. Charmin' Cleary? This is . . . Is this a joke? Do you think this is funny?

Ah, ah, I go. It's me.

You're telling me you're Charmaine Cleary and you slugged one of your professors, and he's unconscious.

Out cold. Blood all over the place.

Now his voice is all different. Now he sounds like a computer. Ms. Cleary, he goes. Please wait where you are. Someone will be right there.