Beatrice:
Tomorrow is a long way off, Alan. I might have forgotten you by then.
Beatrice:
Angie, can I leave early on Friday?
Angie:
Why?
Beatrice:
I'm going to Paris. With my boyfriend.
Angie:
It will rain.
Alan Furnace:
You know, this doesn't actually look like me. Underneath there's a...
Beatrice:
...a prince?
Alan Furnace:
No, just a good-looking frog.
Beatrice:
Whoever thought I could find happiness in the middle of fucking nowhere?
Alan Furnace:
[
first lines - at DJ mic] You grow up in the suburbs, you picture a life for yourself, right? A life of danger, late nights in smokey Jazz clubs, beautiful women everywhere. There's Janda Rhineheart with A Hot Cup of Paris, 1939. - You're listening to Night Duty in Saint Jose's hospital. - Only then you *do* grow up, and you're not living that life. You're poor. You teach in a school during the day, and of course you like it. Though you can barely find time to play the bloody trumpet.
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