You don't want me, Sugar. I'm a liar and a phony. A saxophone player. One of those no-goodniks you keep running away from.

I know, every time.

Sugar, do yourself a favor. Go back to where the millionaires are, the sweet end of the lollipop, not the cole slaw in the face, the old socks and the squeezed-out tube of toothpaste.

That's right. Pour it on. Talk me out of it. [She grabs him to kiss him]