Martin Q. Blank:

Do you *really* believe that there's some stored up conflict that exists between us? There *is* no us. *We* don't exist. So who do you wanna hit, man? It's not me. Now whaddya wanna do here, man? Bob:
[Pulls out a folded up piece of paper] Martin Q. Blank:
I don't know what that is. Bob:
These are my words. Martin Q. Blank:
It's a poem? See, that's the problem... express yourself, Bob! Go for it. Bob:
"When I feel... quiet... when... I feel... blue..." Martin Q. Blank:
You know, I think that is *terrific*, what you have right there. Really, I liked it, a lot. I wouldn't sell the dealership or anything but, I'm tellin' ya... it's intense! Bob:
There's... more. Martin Q. Blank:
Okay, would ya mind, just skip to the end. Bob:
To... the very end? "For a while." Martin Q. Blank:
Whew. That's good man. Bob:
"For a while." Martin Q. Blank:
That's excellent! Bob:
You wanna do some blow? Martin Q. Blank:
No I don't. Bob:
[Hugs Martin]