I was getting my daily exercise, or at least what I consider to be daily exercise, where one time a week at the same moment on every Monday afternoon I walk around in circles in my living room for about a half of an hour or until I fall into a wall or straight to the ground. Though, I digress, during my moment of ritual toning of the body, there was a knock upon the outside of my door. I stopped twirling myself in a spherical motion just long enough to get steady so the books wouldn't appear to be about ready to slide off the shelves. I became collected once again and answered the knocking.

The man outside blurted out, "Have you been saved?"

I simply answered, possibly feebly, "From what?" I gave him a suspicious look with one eyebrow raised, but maybe that was all too sudden of any facial expression.

At this point the man whipped out a pamphlet from the inside of his two-sizes-too-small sports coat.

It was an average sized pamphlet, maybe 3"x7" and green. I must admit it was a bit worn at the edges, but that did not at all hamper the words written upon the front: Sell Bags of Dead Babies Part Time and Make Mucho Profit. My eyes widened and I smacked my forehead with such force as to physically say, "Hey! Why didn't I think of that?"

Could it be this easy? I invited the sinewy man inside, Filipino in race, I thought, but never did find out for sure. I sat him down on my couch as I pulled up a chair but five feet away from him. We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes as I waited for him to speak.

I had to break the uneasy silence, "Could I get you something to drink? Lemonade perhaps?"

The man replied very lowly, "Lemonade, fabulous, ya' fuckin' idiot."

I was taken aback by his reply, but I filled his request. I thought that maybe where he's from or possibly from his upbringing that it was a natural reply to a friendly gesture. I got the man his beverage and he held it one hand without drinking. We still sat in silence.

I thought to myself, "Hey, what am I doing, I have to be the first to speak, like at a therapy session." So, I spoke up, "Now, about the dead baby sales, how many come to a bag?"

The small possibly-Filipino man in the two-sizes-too-small sports coat sat silent and then slowly poured his lemonade down the front of his chest as if he were doing it purposefully.

"I see." I was a bit puzzled, but perhaps my puzzlement was just my ignorance of his culture. I then reached over to the coffee table and took some tissues with which I patted him dry, or at least began to pat him dry. By the third or fourth pat the small man in the two-sizes-too-small sports coat quickly jabbed his right thumb into my left eye. Without a second to spare I dropped to my knees in agony.

The man stood up over me and said in his lowly tone, "Thanks for the lemonade, quite refreshing, ya' big fuckin' idiot." And then he was gone out the door, which he never bothered to close by the way.

In time I regained sight out of my left eye. Though, if the man in the too-sizes-too-small sports coat thinks he got the best of, well then he has another think coming. He forgot to take his pamphlet with him. I'm now rolling in the dough, as they say uptown.