Stuart Beattie
Frank Darabont
Michael Mann
Vincent:
To tell the truth, whenever I’m here, I can’t wait to leave. Too sprawled-out. Disconnected. You know…? But that’s me.
You like it here?
Max:
It’s home.
Vincent:
17 million people. This was a country, it would be the fifth biggest economy in the world. But nobody knows each other. Too impersonal. But that’s just me… you know…
I read about this guy. Gets on the MTA, here, and dies. Six hours he’s riding the subway before anybody notices. This corpse doing laps around LA, people on and off, sitting next to him, nobody notices.
Max:
I see your point. Yeah….
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Max:
Last thing I need is a reason to keep driving a cab. It’s temporary. I’m fillin’ in, you know, while this other thing I’m putting together is shaping up….
Vincent:
How long you been driving?
Max:
Twelve years.
Hardly temporary….
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Vincent:
Look in the mirror.
…with your paper towels…a bottle of 409…a limo company someday. How much you got saved?
Max:
None of your business.
Vincent:
Your business “plan?” someday? “someday my dream’ll come…”?
And one night you’ll wake up and discover it all flipped on you. Suddenly you’re old. And it didn’t happen. And it never will. ‘Cause you were never going to do it, anyway. The dream on the horizon become yesterday and got lost. Then you’ll bullshit yourself, it could never have been, anyway. And you’ll recede it into memory….and zone out in a Barcalounger with daytime TV on for the rest of your life….
Don’t talk to me about killing. You’re do-in’ yourself. In this yellow-and-orange prison. Bit by bit. Every day.
All it ever took was a down payment on a Lincoln Town Car. What the hell are you still doing in a cab?
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Vincent:
YOU CAN’T WIN, MAX! I DO THIS FOR A LIVING!
Guy. Gets on a subway. Dies. Think anybody’ll notice?
