“Who?” asked the man. “Bill Smith. There’s a guy who did everything right,” the cabby said. “Like my coming along when you needed a cab. It would have happened like that to Bill every time.”
“Nah,” the man said to the cabby. “There are always a few clouds over everybody.”
“Not Bill,” said the cabby. “He was a terrific athlete. He could have gone on the pro tour in tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star.”
“Bill was really something, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” continued the cabby. “Bill had a memory like a trap. Could remember everybody’s birthday. He knew all about wine, which fork to eat with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and the whole neighborhood blacks out.”
“No wonder you remember him,” the man said.
“Well, I never actually met Bill,” said the cabby.
“Then how in the world do you know so much about him?”
“I married his damn widow,” replied the cabby.