A woman in a cocktail dress reads a script into a CB radio. Across the room three women affix fake nails to their fingers and pull out the acetone. Down the hall a soprano sings into a bank of 20 cell phones and in another room 42 tape decks are operated by a single man in a suit, each with a scrap of dialogue, the sound of a highway, foreign pop music.  Above, there's video of I-95 at sunrise, mini-vans zipping to work . . . your phone rings.