Mr. Newberry: Did I have you figured wrong?
Marty: I don't know - I mean I hope so.
Mr. Newberry: I visualised you in a haze as one of those slackster, flannel-wearing, coffee-house misanthropes I've been seeing in Newsweek.
Marty: No no no, I went the other road. Six figures, doing business with leadpipe cruelty, mercenery sensibility. You know... sports, sex, no real relationships. How about you - how have the years been treating you?
Mr. Newberry: Well you know me Martin - still the same old sell-out, exploiting the oppressed...
Marty: Sure.
Mr. Newberry: Ah what a piece of work is man, how noble... oh f*** it, let's have a drink and forget the whole damn thing.
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