Randal Graves: Oh what, what's with you, man? You haven't said anything for like twenty minutes. What the hell's you're problem?
Dante Hicks: This life.
Randal Graves: This life?
Dante Hicks: Why do I have this life?
Randal Graves: Have some chips, you'll feel better.
Dante Hicks: I'm stuck in this pit, working for less than a slave wages. Working on my day off, the goddamn steel shutters are closed, I deal with every backward ass fuck on the planet. I smell like shoe polish. My ex-girlfriend is catatonic after fucking a dead guy. And my present girlfriend has sucked 36 dicks.
Randal Graves: 37.