Simply stated: this is the likelihood that at the very moment you position your iPhone on the edge of the sofa, and sit yourself down on a meditation cushion, legs crossed Burmese-style to record a classic Cheever short story, someone in the vicinity who is not shush-able, will begin to hammer or drill or cackle uncontrollably.
Hopefully the unadulterated Cheeverness of this short story will survive the initial background noises and subsequent moving of reader and iPhone to another room halfway through in order to finish perched on the edge of the bed, iPhone balanced precariously on the side of a bookcase. If not, I am happy to supply you with neighbour's address for reparation requests.
[Download a reading of the story]
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