This is what I need: a literary agent, preferably in NYC, who will read my play.

And then I want to get so successful, I never have to talk to anybody again, and can live the rest of my life popping barbiturates like they're skittles while making surprise appearances at junior college playhouses with my ubiquitous cocker spaniel whom everyone thinks is named 'Scratch' yet I only ever call "Jerome".
But seriously, if you know of an agent, let me know. I hate cold-calling and the suicide-on-layaway that is the game of unsolicited transom-tossing.
And I think it's a good play. I sent it to four theatres in London: Soho, Hampstead, Royal Court, and Out of Joint. All except Soho
sent surprising and kind notices that they've received my manuscript (virtually unheard of in fiction-land), but Soho has the most welcoming submission process anyway. So, no rejections yet. We shall see.
And, because it's literally around the corner from my house, I dropped off a copy at the Vortex Theatre on Manor. No word yet there, either.
I may have gotten a C+ in chemical physiology, but even I know that if you hold your breath for too long, you'll die. ....Or you'll pass out and fall down and your body will take over and breathe for you. But this might make you pee yourself.