Greetings! My name is Apartment in Charla, and this is Too Hot for Radio.

Well, well, my audio pals, I'm new, I'd see you back here at the only show bold enough

to snatch sizzling stories from right under the noses of public radio listeners, and then

deliver these depraved little nuggets to our very own Hot and Bothered podcast audience.

Thank you for the ongoing support, and more importantly for your underlying hot and

Botheredness. Look, is a weird concept. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, the universe showers

you with some unlikely magic. Say a good parking spot when you least expect it. I'm in L.A.

now, so my primary concerns involve vehicles and where they idle. Or, conversely, the universe

showers you with an unexpected shit storm. I, either, is no parking spot within a mile

of your favorite kombucha Emporium. As an Angelina, my secondary concerns now involve

purveyors of fermented beverages, succulents, and vibes. That seems to be the way for the

majority of people. You mostly get by on your own, things are okay most of the time, and

then occasionally, the inexplicable just kind of comes out of nowhere. Good or bad, we write

it off as luck. And yet, all of us know someone who seems to be born lucky or unlucky. Maybe

we celebrate them. Maybe we whisper about them behind their backs. But for whatever reason,

the universe seems to constantly deliver surprises to them. Winning a lot of tickets, infected

cat bites, doing lemon drop shots with Bill Murray when he crashes your wedding, doing

lemon drop shots with Brandy Quaid when he crashes your wedding. And, oh, you've never

been taken hostage, but that sure feels like it. And then, Randy takes over your IG story

somehow and it turns into a whole thing. This week's story is, in part, about luck. It's

about lots of other things too. It was written by Samantha Shweblin for McSweeney's, and

was performed as part of selected short celebration of the 25th anniversary of this mighty indie

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