Paris: I'm broke.
Rory: Broke? How?
Paris: My parents flipped the bird at the I.R.S. one too many times. They've frozen everything. All I've got is my trust fund, which doesn't kick in till I'm 25. So unless you can whip out a magic wand and age me four years, I'm a goner.
Rory: Sit down. Calm down.
Paris: My ATM refused me. I thought it was just that particular one. So I went to another, and it refused me, too. So I went to the bank and used a few choice expletives, and a bunch of guys in suits started closing in on me. So I started pacing and yelling, "Attica! Attica!" Then the manager hit a little red button under his desk, so I ran out of there and came right over here. I'm a pauper. I'll be playing a hurdy gurdy on street corners and selling pencils out of a tin cup.