Jazz: And I was gonna make you my best man.
Will: Oh, really? Your best man?
Jazz: Well, you are my best friend. My other friends pretend to like me for my money.
Will: That's because you owe it to them.
Jazz: The ceremony's at the Woman's Correctional Institution next Tuesday.
Will: Whoa, Jazz. You're getting married at the prison?
Jazz: Why not. It's free. We follow an execution.
Will: Jazz, ain't no homey of mine getting married up in no prison.
Jazz: Well, unless you got a rich uncle or something, that's how it's got to be.