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Winston: All right, everybody stop! Wherever you are right now, just sit down! Okay, now, Saturday is a day for sleeping, and damn it, you will not take that away from me! You, give her her scarf back. Finders keepers is not a thing. You, get out of my house!
Holly: Who are you?
Winston: Who am I? Who am I? Well, I am Theodore K. Mullins. And Nick is my lover on the down low. Tell her, Nick. Tell her how it really goes down in apartment 4D. Oh, great Negro spiritual, please come down and loose these chains on this woman! Flesh on flesh. When the lights are off, we are all the same.
Nick: Not true.
Winston: Dear lord, help me, Father! Get out of my house. Get out of my house!
Schmidt: Oh, no. Ruth hasn't been signed out. Um, excuse me. Um, have you seen Ruth? Brown hair, smile that would shake the earth, hates peas?
Girl: A white man broke in today.
Schmidt: A... a white man?! No! Well, what did security do about it?!
Nick: I'm using magnetic words to break through my writer's block, and it's not working. I've already folded all my shirts and masturbated six times, and I'm running out of things to do. I'm just in a real bind. You see, The Pepperwood Chronicles sold over 30 copies, Jess.
Jess: So, what, we're complaining about good things now?
Nick: It's just, my audience is gonna be clamoring for a sequel, and I can't leave those stevedores, those-those tugboat workers, those lighthouse keepers empty-handed.
Jess: You think that your audience is entirely made of, like...
Nick: Blue-collar nautical workers on the coastline of Maine. I don't think that, Jess, I know that.
Schmidt: You know, when we first met, I had to pretend that all kinds of things were wrong with you just so I wouldn't freak out. You know, like, I gave you a glass eye for a while. You had a wooden foot for a short period of time. There was one week where I pretended that you were a Democrat.
Cece: I am a Democrat.
Schmidt: [laughing] Ah, that's so funny. I love you.
Cece: Okay. So we tell Nick she has a glass eye.
Schmidt: He'll spin out. He'll think the eye is a government-issued camera taking pictures for Langley. [Cece scoffs] Nick's a conspiracy theorist. It's like an Irish carnival up there-- just potato peels, broken rides, fiddle music, dreams left unfulfilled, bloodied soccer jerseys, bunch of women limping around named Moira.
Winston: There is this one thing that I miss. I probably shouldn't say, man. I can't.
Schmidt: No, come on. It's us, man.
Winston: Schmidt, I could really go for some crack.
Schmidt: What? Crack cocaine?
Winston: I remember when I was a kid, me, my mom, and her mom, and well, her mom, and then her mom, and then of course her mom, and then my little cousin, Peanut, they'd all rush back to that flaming trash can where we'd sit around and harmonize and just... [sings] Shoo-op. One of those nights I remember, well, we ran out of crack. I'd grab my scarf, and I would run on down to the liquor store where the thugs hang out, and I would try to get a good deal on some crack. [chuckles] Whoo! They never would give me a good price, man, but, uh, I tell you what, there's nothing like the... the feel of a fire, a fresh-baked cookie, and that sweet, sweet taste of crack in your lungs.