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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
Day at a time, I suppose.
House in Glen Burnie, paid-off truck, modest savings.
And exactly how long has this been your occupation, Mr. Little?
Questions?
What do we know?
Hired a couple lobbyists, made some smart contributions...
I thought otherwise.
I remember when the Paceco fell during that windstorm.
If my old man can do it, who the hell says I can't?
Quite a witness, ain't he?
See? It was moved to Lane L, Stack 6, Row 3...
As for the rest of you...
You remember, right? Killed Fat Rick dead.
All right, look, fuck y'all. I need a drink.
Ain't working out for y'all, huh?
-What the fuck are you about? -What?
"You working frozen foods again?" Paul says.
Me. You gotta let me live like I need to live.
Are you Jesus Christ come back to Earth?
Mr. Little, how does a man rob drug dealers for eight or nine years...
-Mars is the god of war, right? -Planet, too.
I know you got my motherfucking cigs, yo.
Fixed it so he couldn't sit right.
-And on the day in question? -It was in Bird's hand.
-that came out of New York five years ago. -We called Washington.
Come see me down the Cut, you punk-ass snitch.
They stay out of the computer for good.
We ask that an appeal bond be set...
They ain't got no family.
Maybe you're right. Maybe we should just keep looking.
Maybe it's what the checkers do.
Herc and Carver...
Your Honor, my client, having preserved the necessary grounds...
-You have the chemicals? -I can get them, as much as you want.
-And where do you live? -No place in particular, ma'am.
-Yeah? -Yeah.
Kima, Prez, I want you to start looking at girls.
Definitely not.
So you rob drug dealers? This is what you do.
I know a club in Oxon Hill that would wreck y'all.
Yo, what up, Bird?