Joe: "This life... Life, what a joke. This situation, this room..."
Mr. Waturi: "Uh, Joe, maybe you should just go."
Joe: "You look terrible, Mr. Waturi. You look like a bag of bleep stuffed in a cheap suit. Not that anyone could look good under these zombie lights. I... I... I... I can feel them sucking the juice out of my eyeballs. Suck! Suck! Suck! Suck! Suck! $300 a week. That's the news. For $300 a week I lived in this sink. This used rubber."
Mr. Waturi: "You watch it, mister. There's a woman here!"
Joe: "Don't you think I know that, Frank? Don't you think I am aware there is a woman here? I can smell her like... like a flower. I can taste her like sugar on my toungue. When I'm 20 feet away, I can hear the fabric of her dress when she moves in her chair. Not that I've done anything about it. I've gone all day everyday not doing, not saying, not taking the chance for $300 a week. And, Frank, the cofee, it stinks. It tastes like arsenic. These lights give me a headache. If they don't give you a headeache, you must be dead! So, let's arrange the funeral."
Mr. Waturi: "You better get outta here. I'm telling you."
Joe: "You're not telling me nothing."
Mr. Waturi: "I'm telling you!"
Joe: "Why, I ask myself, have I put up with you? I can't imagine. But I know. It's fear. Yellow, freaking fear. I've been too chicken-bleep afraid to live my life, so I sold it to you for $300 freaking dollars a week! You are lucky I don't kill you! You're lucky I don't rip your freaking throat out! But I'm not going to! Maybe you're not so lucky at that, because I'm going to leave you here, Mr. Whahoo Waturi. What could be worse than that? DeDe?"
DeDe (Meg Ryan): "Yeah?"
Joe: "How about dinner tonight?"
DeDe: "Yeah, okay."