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I can't sleep. I take pills. But they foto only last a couple of hours and foto then I'm up at 4:00 in the morning pacing the fucking house or walking on the cold fucking beach. I'm so miserable, I wanna fucking shoot myself. But, I can't because I'm afraid to die. How's that for fucked-up? [Zach hits the wall and starts sobbing] Zach: So what's the answer? Oh, I forgot. You don't foto have answers. You're not the burning bush. You just give suggestions. Well, I need help. I'm in the fucking dumper. Give me a suggestion because I know you've got one. I can see it in those beady little Freudian eyes. Dr. Westford: If an alcoholic wants me to cure him, you know what I say? [sighs] Zach: That's a question. That's not a suggestion. [sighs again] Zach: Okay. What do you say? Dr. Westford: First, stop drinking. Zach: I don't get it. Dr. Westford: Go home and think about it. That's my suggestion. Molly: I'm not going to argue with you anymore, Zach. Your dishonest and your too good with words.
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