HE: Coffee’s bitter. You’d think at these prices they could do it right. Well, OK, it’s not that expensive. But still. Why hasn’t Marge called? I told her to keep me up to date on what Murphy’s doing with the Powell account. That moron is bound to fuck it up. If Hank hadn’t begged me to give numbnuts a chance, the guy’d still be sitting at his little cubicle playing with himself.
SHE: The color is right, but I just don’t like how transparent the material is. But then that’s what these women are wearing on top of their bathing suits on their way back from the beach. Buongiorno is good morning. Buono sera is good afternoon. Molto gentile. You are so kind.
SHE: There might be a strike at the airport tomorrow. Only a few hours. Happens all the time. But nobody gets too upset about it. This is a country full of tolerant folks. Always smiling. When things get bad, they just shrug.
HE: I never liked Murphy. But Hank does. I wonder why.
HE: Maybe they’re sweet for each other. Ha! Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. They fall all over themselves, trying to get their noses up each other’s asses. I ought to fire both of them.
SHE: Well, the pizza here isn’t anything at all like Dominoes. Thin crust. Just a covering of sauce and cheese. The tomatos are supposed to be from around Vesuvius. Something about the soil.
SHE: I’m in the mood for…what? A nice big ice cream cone. Gelato, they call it.
HE: If I fire Murphy then Hank will start whining. Oh, hell no. I don’t need any of that right now. Christ, they don’t pay me enough to put up with this shit.