Now’s the chance to get em back. Almost ten goddamned years workin for these sonofabitches and I’ve got nothin to show for it. It’s a puppet show, ya know what I mean? They point their fat fingers and I walk the walk. I march these dismal goddamned streets. The doors I gotta knock on, I’m tellin ya—these aren’t the places where dreams were missed. These are the places where dreams are ignored. These are the places where soggy old bitches and bastards dig up every bitter feeling they’ve had since birth then throw em at the salesmen in crazy screaming fits. They croak about havin some decency and givin them their peace and quiet. They send the salesmen out to the goddamned sidewalk, throwin rainbows of cusswords in for good measure. They’re real civilized people, see? They’re the ones payin the taxes. They’re the ones pavin the roads. The roads. Well, the roads are like conveyor belts for Jehovah’s witnesses with cheap jewelry and kitchen knives. We’ve lost our status. We’re the low men. That’s right, we’re the low men, and I’m bringin us back to the surface. These places. This job. These cheap, lousy, good-for-nothing … Well, they leave me no choice. They leave me here, now, in the office with $45,000 of administrative dough wedged into my bag. Sweatin like a sonofabitch. Reconsiderin, but knowin I’m gonna follow through because this is my chance. This is an opportunity for all of em. For all the low men. Tonight, the plot is set into motion.

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