THE STORY BEGINS in early 2014 when I was in the East Village at my favorite bar, EVS. I've said this multiple times so far, but I swear it's on St. Marks and it's not douchey. Also don't start going there, because it's my bar and it's impossible to find a not-crowded bar in New York City with a good happy hour. So yeah, don't go there.

Anyway, it's like February 2014 and I'm out drinking my $20 happy hour bottle of wine when someone comes into the bar and swipes my phone off the table. Honestly, it's genius. I applaud the person who took my phone. I bet you he stole 20 phones that night. It's the perfect place to steal phones. Bravo. Genius.

Anyway, I call my phone and it goes straight to voicemail: the international sign of death. I was never seeing that phone again. The phone was gone.