When the cripple regained control of himself, he said as calmly as he could, “I never thought I’d find you. You’re not listed in the phone book and I don’t know anyone who knows where you live. You keep your life extremely private, don’t you? Fate has brought us together so that we both can become rich and famous. In my case, rich and famous again. In your case, richer and more famous.” The cripple gave a quick cackle, then said, “You’ve got to come to my apartment and let me show you my videotape.” In desperation, the cripple grabbed a handful of the producer’s overcoat and pleaded, “You’ve just got to.”

The producer yanked his coat away from the cripple with such a burst of violence it caused the bum to almost fall once again, and his coughing to return, outbursts so explosive they made the cripple’s eyes water and his nose run. Once again the cripple found himself spraying his revolting spittle about, this time more heavily than before. He tried to stop scattering phlegm by coughing into the crook of his arm. It helped.

The cripple’s horrible hacking wasn’t helping the producer’s disposition. He considered the cripple the most revolting person he’d ever met. He wondered if this panhandler, coughing as violently as he was, might expire right there in front of him on Madison Avenue. He hoped so.

“Enough of this,” hissed the producer. “Enough! I don’t want to look at you or listen to you anymore. And blow your goddamn nose. Snot’s running down your upper lip, for Christ sake.”

The cripple was quite aware the producer had had about as much as he could take. He could only shrug his shoulders and say, “I’m pathetic, I know that. You think I don’t know that? I know, but what can I do? As Popeye said, ‘I yam what I yam.’” The cripple cackled.

The producer said nothing.

The cripple smiled, pulled a filthy handkerchief from an overcoat pocket, and blew his nose. Out of courtesy the cripple turned his head when he did. He blew his nose loudly. And while he was at it he hacked a glob of spit into the handkerchief for good measure. The cripple studied the spew to see if it was green, yellow, or white.

“My doctor told me to check out what I cough up. He said if my sputum was white, it was okay. If it was yellowish, he said it was not great but not real bad. If it was green, it was bad. Mine’s yellow.”

“I’m thrilled to hear that,” said the producer.

The old cripple put the handkerchief back in his coat pocket.