Taxi Driver (Travis Bickle)
You talkin to me? You talkin’ to me You talkin’ to me? Well then who the hell else are you talkin’ to? You talkin’ to me? Well I’m the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to? Oh yea? Huh? Okay. Huh?
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You talkin to me? You talkin’ to me You talkin’ to me? Well then who the hell else are you talkin’ to? You talkin’ to me? Well I’m the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to? Oh yea? Huh? Okay. Huh?
April 10, 1972. Thank God for the rain which has helped wash the garbage and trash off the sidewalks. I’m working a single now, which means stretch-shifts, six to six, sometimes six to eight in the a.m., six days a week. It’s a hustle, but it keeps me busy. I can take in three to three-fifty a week, more with skims. I work the whole city, up, down, don’t make no difference to me – does to some. Some won’t take spooks – Hell, don’t make no difference to me. They’re all animals anyway. All the animals come out at night: Whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.