Chili: Martin, look at me.
Martin: I'm looking at you.
Chili: No, I want you to look at me the way I'm looking at you. Put it in your eyes, 'You're mine, asshole,' without saying it.
Martin: Like this?
Chili: What you're telling me, you're tired? You wanna go to bed?
Martin: Wait. How about this?
Chili: Now you're squinting like you need glasses. Look at me. I'm thinking, You're mine. I ****in' own you. What I'm not doing is feeling anything about it one way or the other. You understand? You're not a person to me, you're a name in my collection book, a guy owes me money, that's all.
Martin: How about this?
Chili: That's not bad.
Martin: That's what I think of you, asshole. Nothing.
Chili: I believe it.
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