On the day of my judgment, when I stand before God, and He asks me why did I kill one of his true miracles, what am I gonna say? That it was my job? My job?
- We'll be back to pick you up in fifteen minutes.
- Take your time. I expect to be dead in four.
I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we's coming from or going to, or why. Mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday.
- You know how to pick this lock?
- Is this some black-shit again?
- Hey will you stop that racial shit? Are you a fuckin' locksmith or not?
People hurt the ones they love. That's how it is all around the world.
- That guy was pissed.
- He'll feel better when he looks in the back seat.
- Shit! That was my gold bar!