I had tried Jonathan a few times over the course of the afternoon but only got through as I ducked out of Rockefeller Plaza at sunset. “Six calls!” he said. “I thought it was an emergency!” He was stepping out of a meeting. “Five!” I countered. We’d met shortly after he left his job as a presidential speechwriter. In the years we’d been together, he’d drifted, creating a short-lived sitcom and tweeting a lot. A couple of months earlier, he and his friends had started a media company focused on podcasts on the West Coast. It had taken off faster than anyone predicted. His trips to New York had
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