“Look, Sanjay, let’s cut the crap. I want to be in this film. You want me to be in this film. My fans want me to be in this film. The writer of this story wants me to be in this film.” Zach looked off the page at the writer, saying, “Ain’t that right, buddy?”

Yes it is, the writer wrote.

“You see?” Zach went on. “So who’s stopping us. The banks? Fuck the banks, Sanjay. Fuck. The. Banks.”

“You are not incorrect, Mr. Galifianakis, but we have to--”

“Zach.”

“Yes?”

“Call me Zach.”

“Very well, Mr. Zach, we need to--”

“Just Zach.”

“I do beg your pardon, Just Zach. If we approach this-”

“Doctor Just Zach.”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Doctor Just Zach.”

“As you say. If we don’t take very careful steps here, Dr. Just Zach, the banks will do more than just stop us.” Here Zach’s fellow interlocutor looked at him with grim earnestness. “They’ll rip off the very balls you are so idle scratching!”

Zach stuck his tongue into his cheek, as if thinking deeply. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Are you, Sanjay? Are your balls tough enough to fuck. The banks. Are they?”

“Why do you keep calling me Sanjay?”

Zach looked aghast. “That’s not your name?”

“Heavens no.”

“Then what is?”

“David Hyde Pierce.”

Zach paused for a few seconds. “David Hyde Pierce? You were named after the supporting actor on Frasier?”

David Hyde Pierce, the one from Frasier, opened the door, stuck his head in. “Supporting?” he said with contempt and disgust, just as you would expect his character on Frasier to say it, then retreated and slammed the door.

“No,” Sanjay said, swallowing uncomfortably. “He was named after me.”

“Bullshit!” a voice, probably David’s, shouted from outside the room.

“Dave.” Zach fixed him with a steely gaze. “Let’s quite fondling each other’s pillowy fleshy buttocks. You. Me. The fans. The asshole writing this farce. We are of an accord. You’re afraid of what the banks will do to us? I say it is better to act in fear than to lie still in comfort. Are you with me.”

Sanjay smiled, weakly. “I just don’t know.” He looked off the page, at the writer. “Where is this going, exactly?”

The writer looked back, starting to feel the boredom and futility of the project. I’m not sure. Let me think on it. I just had a run, and came up with this idea while I was out there sweating. I wanted to write it down before it escaped me. Let me grab a quick shower and get back to you.

Sanjay nodded his head. Zach went back to scratching his balls, grinning. DHP remained out of the scene.

But the writer never returned.