What are you thinking, Joe? Nothing. There's nothing I can do and I hate it. That's not...

Connie: What are you thinking, Joe? Joe: Nothing. There's nothing I can do and I hate it. Connie: That's not true. Joe: Yeah, it is. You look at me like I can make a move. What are you thinking when you look at me like that? Don't you care? I don't know who I am, but I know what keeps me alive is restraint. Keeps me out of jail. Keeps me from hurting people. A mark of some fucked-up faith that there's a reason. A reason for all of this. A reason in most moments I shouldn't do what I wanna do. I do as I'm told. These men who bust their asses work like dogs - and I believe in them - but every day they hurt. They get old, they peel back... There's no frontier anymore. And I watch that boy, and I see someone who's... nothing like me, but... he's a child folks left behind. And he's on a fence, balanced right there. Connie: What do you want? What is it you want? Joe: Nothing. Connie: Just tell me what I can do. I like you. Joe: I like you, too, but what's the point in any of it? Fuck to this day. I mean, fuck to this day. It's all just gonna boil up and wash us away. Maybe you'll still be here. Maybe you won't.