Darien Fawkes: By the way, I want my tombstone to say, "Too late, he's already dead." You know, just in case more people show up wanting to screw my life over.
Albert Eberts: Great news, Robert. I was able to pull a few strings and managed to get you your very own staple remover.
Robert Hobbes: That's great. You know, I'm a highly trained, decorated field agent, Eberts. I could kill a man right now with my bare hands.
Albert Eberts: But can you collate?
Darien Fawkes: The Scottish philosopher Balfour said that destiny is the scapegoat we make responsible for our crimes. He was probably right, too, but I bet he was real dull at parties.
The Keeper: Did you have to drop this on the ground, Darien?
Darien Fawkes: I was on my way to get a breakfast Burrito when I pulled a rat skeleton out of my pocket. What did you want me to do? Hug him? Pet him? Call him George?
Albert Eberts: I couldn't help but notice that mark on your chin.
Robert Hobbes: Oh, right there. Yeah. Uh-huh. Bar fight in Madrid. A couple of Basque separatists took exceptions to my political views. Of course, I may have said something about soccer being the world's most boring sport.
Albert Eberts: Zero-to-zero after four hours? I fail to understand its appeal.