Last night, I saw Alison, the former girlfriend of my brother Mike. I was strolling down the mean streets of Queens, noting the various aromas, when she appeared, clad in a black evening dress and carrying a taser. I called out to her. Startled, she raised her weapon, ready to fire. Her eyes darted from side to side as if she were watching a particularly chaotic tennis match, and then she recognized me. "Shhhhh! I'm undercover. No one must know I'm here." She was still doing that thing with her eyes, and I was beginning to wish I had stayed home. Suddenly, a shot rang out! Pedestrians screamed in Spanish and Hindi as they scattered to the winds. Alison fell to her knees, a corsage of blood blooming across her chest. "Tell them . . . tell them. . . ." she murmured before her secret died with her.

No, wait. That was someone else. Alison came to my apartment, and we ordered Chinese food.

I think Mike told her that I was giving away my couch for free. She eyed it hungrily all evening, then when it was time to go, she pulled out a taser. . . .

No, wait. That was Joe. And it was not a taser so much as a jar of apple sauce. A jar of apple sauce he did not quite explain to my satisfaction. But he did decide to buy my beautiful couch, and aren't some questions better left unanswered?