252 words on “Dog Day Afternoon”

The body is the temple of the LORD.

“The guy who kills me, I hope he does it because he hates my guts, not because it’s his job.”

“You’re dying. Do you know that you say that to me every day of your life? You’re not dying, you’re killing the people around you, is what you’re doing.”

Just like us: they’re doomed, and they know it.

“What’s wrong with this guy? What do you make a week? You ever been to prison? No? Well, let’s talk about something you know about: how much you make a week?”

Five minutes. Quit while you’re ahead.

Sonny answers the phone: “WNEW, plays all the hits.” He threatens to start throwing bodies out the bank’s front door. Confused and threatened is how he got here; it’s how he’ll leave. Sal is all the way in on this because he doesn’t have any plans, any future, any remorse, nor any idea where Wyoming is.

Police don’t like it in the papers; they somehow always end up there anyway. Attica! Isolated incident. Sonny spins the chair, which falls. Desperation makes the most of us – we call that innovation, but we forgot why after electricity.

We make the demands. They’re gonna give us anything we want.

His wife wants/needs to be a woman.

This death business: it’s too much.

Sonny’s mom: how beautiful you were when you were a baby.

You needed money; I got you money. That’s it.

Til we are joined in the hereafter.

We’re all here.

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