KARL: Hustle, pet. Tonight we RIDE.
KATE: I'm coming, I'm coming, I just... people want photos...
KARL: Photos are lens vomit. You pose for ART. It's like I told Victoria: "You are a still life with melons. BE THE BOWL."
KATE: Okay, "art," then. They want me to let them take some art. How does the dress look?
KARL: Like a swirl of pain. Agony on a cracker as painted by a drooling child. But SHINY. I would drink you if you came with a bendy straw.
KATE: Only a bendy straw?
KARL: Do not pester me. There are stupid questions, and tonight the answer is YOU. How is my jacket? Does it gleam like a gun-toting seal?
KATE: Actually, it kind of does.
KARL: LOOK ALIVE. I think he's got real bullets. Do you need your hair, or can the maid have it for a casserole?
KATE: Ha ha, um, why don't we go inside? These shoes aren't super comfortable. I'm not sure about this plastic stuff. My boyfriend always says...
KARL: Pish. Your boyfriend is life's dental floss. BRUSH.
KATE: He's great, though. He just doesn't like the shoes.
KARL: Poison him and make a necklace of his teeth.
KATE: I trust his opinion.
KARL: Trust is a drunk driver's highway, darling. TAKE THE BUS.
KATE: An open bar will help. It MUST help.