Diane: Oh, what a glorious day. I'm going to go do what poets do drink myself stinky. [Sam laughs] Wait a minute. This always happens. You always squirm out of these things unscathed. You did a terrible thing!
Sam: I know it.
Diane: No, you don't. You put me through hell. This time it's going to be different. I'm going to make you suffer.
Sam: What- What're you going to do?
Diane: I don't know. Yes, I do. You're going out there and admit to everyone that you stole this poem from me.
Sam: Oh, come on, you mean I have to go out and tell the whole bar that I'm not a poet?
Diane: You sure do, mister. Let's go.