I assure you nurse, I am Harris Smith. Have been all my life. Unfortunately, I was struck by some stray gunfire in the course of my work as a collector of antiquities. These are the hazards that attend that line of work, I’m afraid. Some folks are awful sensitive about their 18th century chinoiserie cabinets. Especially if they’re located in an Applebee’s.
I meet the description of whom? Sorry, I don’t follow the tabloids much. My exposure to the outside world consists of watching a little NewsHour with Jim Lehrer, curling up and reading my Economist with some yerba mate. Maybe listen to a little All Things Considered if I’m in the mood for whimsy. I find sports mostly disagreeable, though an impromptu game of squash is a fine divertissement from the day’s labors. My friend, uh, Eeeeeeeee….Elmer. Elmer taught it to me.
Plaxico? No, I know no one by that name. That we are both towering lanky black men is an odd quirk of fate. Super Bowl ring? No, that’s my class ring. We were also the Giants. I agree it is nice for a high school ring, thank you. No, the Smith family would never give one of their own such a garish-sounding name. Plaxico. Ugh. It offends the tongue.
[Kid with a Giants hat dashes into the room]
“Hey mister. My dad says you jog through your routes when you’re not the primary target.”
Heh heh heh. Children. Such fanciful imaginations they have.
[Turns back to nurse, flashes kid the gun he has stowed in his waistband. Kid runs off.]
Yes, yes, run along, scamp. Get into more monkeyshines while you can.
Where were we?
Yes, the bullet in my leg.
Can you do something about that? It might adversely affect my career. In antiquities. Must be in top physical form to lug all that furniture around. In an Applebee’s.