Chili Palmer:
Martin, look at me.
Martin:
I'm looking at you.
Chili Palmer:
No, I want you to look at me the way I'm looking at you. Put it in your eyes, 'You're mine, asshole,' without saying it.
Martin:
Like this?
[heavy lidded eyes]
Chili Palmer:
What you're telling me, you're tired? You wanna go to bed?
Martin:
Wait. How about this?
[squints]
Chili Palmer:
Now you're squinting like you need glasses.
Martin:
Well, what are you getting...
Chili Palmer:
Look at me. What I'm thinking is, 'You're mine. I fuckin' own you.' But what I'm not doing is feeling anything about it one way or the other. You understand? You're not a person to me, you're a name in my collection book, a guy owes me money, that's all.
[Martin does the look once again]
Chili Palmer:
Whoah.
Karen Flores:
He's... he's good.
Chili Palmer:
You nailed it.
Martin:
[guttural]
That's what I think of you, asshole. Nothing.
Chili Palmer:
That's why you're Martin Weir.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:46
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