"May I speak with John, please?"
"This is John."
"Hi, John. It's Lucy."
"Hi Lucy. How are you?"
"I'm doing pretty well. I'm just recovering from that surgery."
"What? When did you have surgery?"
"I had surgery a couple of weeks ago. You knew this."
"No, I didn't. Good god, are you OK?"
"Yes, it was just routine foot surgery. I told you all of this over lunch about a month ago."
"It's been longer than a month since I've seen you. We never had lunch. My goodness. Do you have to do physical therapy?"
"Yes, of course, that's why I'm calling. You said you'd be able to drive me back and forth."
"I don't even have a driver's license. It got suspended a couple of months ago."
"Then why did you tell me you'd drive me to physical therapy?"
"I wouldn't have said that because of the suspension. I was hauling Class C explosives across state lines without the proper permits."
"What? What were you doing with explosives?"
"What do you mean? I'm a blaster. I blast for a living. I always have explosives. I let the permit expire by accident."
"I thought you were a lawyer."
"A lawyer? I hate lawyers. A lawyer killed my parents."
"Your parents? Don't they live in Bethesda? I met them about six months ago."
"They've been dead for ten years. You knew that. It happened on your birthday. You went to the funeral."
"I didn't go to any funeral for your parents. Wait a minute. Is this 555-3284?"
"No, this is 555-3824."
"Oh, sorry about your parents."
"It's O.K. Hope your foot gets better."