“Unhand her, vagabond,” was my one line in the school play. I had the part of the cop, a minor role compared to Beth Levine’s, the heroine, or Billy Wiesenkopf’s the vagabond. Still, I took my part seriously. So although he forgot to take her hand, right on cue I yelled, “Unhand her, vagabond,” and it struck me and everyone else that my line made no sense. Then I knew: this is the kind of mistake that will end the world. A question of bad timing will hang in the air like