The worst part about a cough is the small tickle at the back of the throat that informs you that you’re going to cough, no doubt about it, even though you vastly prefer not to disturb the people around you, who you know cringe with some sympathy but more disgust at the fact that you persist in torturing their ears with your hacking. Sigh. It didn’t help that, while at work today I remembered a time, two years ago, when I worked in a room with 200 other people, and a woman several tables behind me came down with what must have been tuberculosis. For nearly two weeks she coughed such coughs to rival Fortunato’s ughs. They were so obviously excruciating that some people visibly gagged in response. Some complained, but we were working hourly with no paid sick leave: I couldn’t really blame her for not wanting to leave, but I also couldn’t really stop myself from wishing someone would brain her good. If my own cough persists tomorrow, I’m bringing my work home.