At the Food & Drug for drug. A man limps down the chip aisle, one arm bent and swinging idly like a weathervane.

Man, I think. Poor guy.

Paying for my syrup, as the clerk checks my ID, and though I’m genuinely sick, I perform a cough. In line behind me, someone laughs—the man with a limp and Lay’s and Coors.

You’re good, big guy, he says. We all believe you.