"I was with you for six hours last night, but I can't remember what you look like, or what you wore - except for that large orange hat. We sat shoulder to shoulder at a little bar in the east Fifties. We ate dinner together, saw a Broadway show together, shared a cab together.
The bartender, the waiter, the usher, the cab driver - none of them remembers you. The police say I was home strangling my wife at the moment I met you. You are the only one who can prove my story - but I don't know your name, or where you live. And I can't search for you, from a jail cell . . ."
