The thing about audiobooks is that they rarely occupy 100 percent of your attention. They become background music, melting sneakily into your subconscious thoughts, so that you’re not sure whether the voice you’re hearing belongs to you or to some narrator who’s quietly hijacked your stream of consciousness. This Tuesday a woman in my head was calling Donald Trump a “clear and present danger” to American democracy. I assumed that woman was me. But then she started recounting how one of her staffers phoned the manager of the New Yorker Hotel in midtown Manhattan at 4:00 on the morning of Nov. 9 to arrange for the use of the space; this person couldn’t muster the strength to deliver her presidential concession speech in the soaring glass heart of the Javits Center. Oh, I realized, my own heart sinking. Hillary Clinton. Of course.