Bright Lights, Big City

Hey!

Hey!

Why so sad?

What?

Why so sad?

I'm not sad.

Trouble with a woman?

What?

Trouble with a woman?

Something like that.

You want another drink? Last call.

Sure. Why not?

You are not the kind of guy who would be...

at a place like this at this time in the morning...

but here you are, and you can't say...

that the terrain is entirely unfamiliar...

although you must admit that the details are fuzzy.

You're the kind of guy who wakes up early...

to the smell of bread from the local bakery...

goes out, brings back the paper and a couple of croissants...

to your wife Amanda.

She left you a couple of months ago...

and here you are.

How did you get here? All might come clear...

if you could just slip into the bathroom...

and do a little more Bolivian marching powder...

but, then again, this epidemic lack of clarity...

is a result of too much of that already.

Your brain is composed of brigades...

of tiny Bolivian soldiers. They're tired and muddy...

from their long march through the night...

and they're hungry. They need to be fed.

They need the Bolivian marching powder.

Hi. Got some blow?

I love drugs.

That's something we have in common.

Have you ever noticed how the good words start with 'D'?

'D' and 'L'...

You know, drugs, delight, decadence.

Debauchery.

Dexedrine.

Delectable, debilitated...

deranged.

Delinquent.

Delirium.

And lush and luscious.

Languorous.

Librium.

Libidinous.

What's that?

Horny.

What, do you have a problem with 'H' words?

Shit.

OK, everyone, the Palladium is now closed.

We'll reopen again tomorrow night at 11:00...

and we hope to see you then.

Barbara! Barbara!

Where did Allagash go?

He left a couple of hours ago.

Shit.

Shit!

Hey. Hey...

Morning. Listen, I only have $1.50 in my pocket.

- When we get to my apartment... - Go fuck yourself.

Thank you.

Yeah.

What time is it?

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

Is she there yet?

Is she looking for me?

Oh, shit. Oh, Christ, Meg.

I'm all right. OK, I'm coming in.

"The Post" is the most shameful of your several addictions.

You're a secret fan of killer bees, hero cops...

sex fiends, lottery winners...

teenage terrorists, Liz Taylor...

tough tots, sicko creeps, living nightmares...

life on other planets, spontaneous human combustion...

coma babies.

Morning. Thanks.

Morning.

Morning.

Morning.

Good morning. Tardy, tardy. Very tardy.

Good morning, Mr. Conway.

May I speak to you in my office?

Close the door.

How nice to see you, Jamie.

Thank you, Clara. Nice to see you.

I wasn't sure you were keeping office hours anymore.

Sit down.

Mr. Vogel has decided to move the French piece up an issue.

That means I need it on my desk before you leave today.

Is that clear?

Quite clear.

I want every single fact verified...

as per standard procedure.

I want the spelling of every name double-checked.

I want every accent in place. I want every figure correct.

If the writer gives the population of France...

I want you to find the exact figure...

man, woman, and child...

down to the last baby born the hour we go to press.

Is that clear?

Crystalline.

Because if there is one single mistake...

in that article, whose fault will it be?

The writer's fault?

My fault.

Exactly. And if I were you...

I would be on the phone to Paris now...

where it is 5:00 in the afternoon...

and where everyone is thinking of going home.

Of course, we know from your resume...

that you're fluent in French...

so this will be no problem for you.

Absolutely. No problem.

My desk.

My ass.

What?

Alors, vite, vite.

Allons-y. Travaillez.

Still got that nasty sinus problem, I see.

Records, hi.

This is Yasu Wade from Gotham Magazine.

Jamie, listen, do you want some help with that?

- No, Meg. Thanks, I'm fine. - I'm not real busy.

- Are you sure? - Yeah. I'm sure. Absolutely.

There's a certain shabby nobility...

in failing all by myself.

Well, if you can call me back, I'll be here until about...

Yeah, hi, Eleanor? Listen, can you get those calls...

through to Paris for me this morning?

Right. Yeah. The same two ministries.

Oh, and I need you...

to get ahold of John Martin for me.

Right. You got that number?

OK. Thanks.

Richard Rose.

Richard B. Rose. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Jesus Christ.

Hello.

"Ne kee tay pa"?

Oh! Ne quittez pas.

Oui, je... oui.

Why did I put knowledge of French on my resume?

Jamie, you don't speak French?

Pardon?

Oui. Je suis Monsieur Jamie Conway...

des Etats-Unis.

Oui. Je travaille sur le, uh, essai...

de, uh, politique?

Shit. I mean, merde.

I mean, pardon?

De pol... hello?

Hello?

Line went dead.

Mr. Vogel. May I help you?

No, thank you.

- Clara? - Oh, hello, Mr. Vogel.

Headache?

Yeah.

I need to go to the deli, get a little nourishment.

- You want anything? - I'd love a cheese danish.

All right, OK. Anybody else want anything?

No, thank you.

- Last chance! - No, thanks.

Megan, if anybody calls, I'll be right back.

Mr. Tyler.

How's the travel section?

Fine, fine.

Big piece on Tibet this week.

How's that beautiful wife of yours?

She's fine. She's in Paris, modeling.

Really? I could have sworn...

I saw her modeling some clothes on a TV talk show this weekend.

No, it must have been a rerun.

I'd know if she was in town.

Yeah, you'd certainly hope so.

So how's Clara behaving?

Same as usual. Like a fourth-grade tyrant.

I've always wanted to ask somebody in fact...

does Clara piss in the men's room...

or the ladies'?

I don't believe she pisses.

Marvelous.

So how do you like it down here in fact?

All in all, I'd rather be in fiction.

Oh, you write, don't you?

That seems to be a matter of opinion.

Read Hazlitt, that's my advice.

Read Hazlitt and write before breakfast every day.

OK, what can I do you for?

Pastrami on rye.

Want a little mustard today, Jamie?

Yeah, mustard. Mustard and butter.

And butter. Just like your mother made it?

What do you know about it?

That's how my mother used to make it.