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I read about this guy who gets on the MTA here, 1976 in sports dies. Max: Oh. Vincent: Six hours he's riding the subway before anybody notices his corpse doing laps around L.A., people on and off sitting next to him. Nobody notices. Max: Hey. He, he, he fell on the cab. He fell, he fell from up there on the 1976 in sports motherfucking cab. Shit. I think he's dead. Vincent: Good guess. Max: You killed him? 1976 in sports Vincent: No, I shot him. Bullets and the fall killed him. Max: I can't drive you around while you're killing folks. It ain't my job! Vincent: Tonight it is. Vincent: Okay, look, here's the deal. Man, you were gonna drive me around tonight, never be the wiser, but El Gordo got in front of a window, did his high dive, we're into Plan B. Still breathing? Now we gotta make the best of it, improvise, adapt to the environment, Darwin, shit happens, I Ching, whatever man, we gotta roll with it.
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