What do ya think, a gang hit, screwed-up drug score, unlucky John, or an unhappy love affair? Huh? Don't tell me this shit's gettin' to ya. Not Harry Callahan. Say it ain't so.
No, this stuff isn't gettin' to me. The knifings, the beatings, old ladies being bashed in the head for their Social Security checks, teachers being thrown out of a fourth-floor window because they don't give a shit. That doesn't bother me a bit.
Come on, Harry. Take it easy.
Or this job, either. Having to wade through the scum of this city, being swept away by bigger and bigger waves of corruption, apathy and red tape. Nah, that doesn't bother me. But you know what does bother me?
What?
You know what makes me really sick to my stomach?
What?
Is watching you stuff your face with those hot dogs. Nobody, I mean NOBODY puts ketchup on a hot dog.
