Morris walks out into the street and manages to get a taxi just going by. He gets into the taxi, and the cab driver says, "Perfect timing. You're just like Dave."

"Who?"

"Dave Aronson. There's a guy who did everything right. Like my coming along when you needed a cab. It would have happened like that to Dave."

"There are always a few clouds over everybody," says Morris.

"Not Dave. He was a terrific athlete. He could have gone on the pro tour in tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star."

"He was something, huh?"

"He had a memory like a trap. Could remember everybody's birthday. He knew all about wine, which fork to eat with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and I black out the whole neighborhood."

"No wonder you remember him."

"Well, I never actually met Dave."

"Then how do you know so much about him?" asks Morris.

"Because I married his widow."
 

"I'd like the number for Jennifer Smith in Richmond, Virginia," the young man said to the 411 operator.

"There are multiple listings for Jennifer Smith in Richmond, Virginia," the operator said. "Do you have a street name?"

The young man hesitated a moment, "Well, uh, most people call me Bubba."