"So, why''d you pick this life?"

"Bein'' a writer was a bitch."

"Worse than this?"

"Wasn''t bad ‘til I got caught."

"Well, your next life''s comin'' up, pal.  That red head''s been eyein'' you for ten minutes."

"New Year''s Eve.  You''d think Gladstone''s could afford a bigger lobster tank to make it fair for us, eh?"

"Nothin'' fair in Hollywood."

"Myrtle, never gets picked?  What''s her secret?"

"Over forty, fool.  Body''s gone and those eyes.   Not black left."

"Cataracts?"

"Yeah."

"Sad."

"She''s alive, ain''t she?"

"Damn.  Red head''s movin'' our way."

"Boyfriend too."

"Pointin'' at us"

"Happy New Year!"

"What''re you, sick?"