In a cathartic gush I unload on the deputy, telling him that I’m under deadline and my best friend just had a baby and my boyfriend was tired of kitty-sitting because he’d been unable to sleep for the past two nights because of it playing with his feet and I’m writing a piece about bitcoins for Penthouse, due in the morning.

“Bitcoins?” he says. “Lemme me pull over.”

For the first time in my Penthouse history, the topic I’m writing about gets more attention than the magazine I’m writing for. It’s a sign.