Jamaican Woman:
Mr. Bad News. 'Bout time you show up.
Joe Black:
Don't be feisty, sister.
Jamaican Woman:
I'm not feisty, mister. You come for me? That's good news.
Joe Black:
No, I come to see the doctor.
Jamaican Woman:
Doctor?
Joe Black:
Mm-hmm.
Jamaican Woman:
What could be wrong with you?
Joe Black:
Nothin'.
Jamaican Woman:
Ohh. You come to see doctor lady?
Joe Black:
Yeah, man.
Jamaican Woman:
My doctor lady?
Joe Black:
Mine too, you know.
Jamaican Woman:
You're in love?
Joe Black:
[nods]

Jamaican Woman:
You're loved back?
Joe Black:
[nods]

Jamaican Woman:
She know your real self?
Joe Black:
She know how she feel.
Jamaican Woman:
Backside! What the hell kind of business this is?
Joe Black:
Don't need you okayin'.
Jamaican Woman:
Schoolboy things in your head. Badness for you. Badness for her. Badness for me, lyin' here, tumor big as a breadfruit, poisonin' me inside, and waitin'.
Joe Black:
Bring you flowers, and all I's gettin' is aggravation.
Jamaican Woman:
The only flowers I want to see... is the ones over my peaceful self resting in the dirt.
Joe Black:
Can't do no right by people. Come to take you, you want to stay. Leave you stay, you want to go. Rahtid.
Riportata da il 05/03/2025 alle ore 08:14

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