Fabienne! Come on, baby. Come on. Get your shit. We gotta go right now.
I was so worried. What about our bags?
Fuck the bags; if we don't split right now, we'll miss the train.
-I'll be downstairs. -Is everything well?
-Just come on! No talking now! -Are we in danger?
Come on, honey!
Where did you get this motorcycle?
-It's not a motorcycle, baby. It's a chopper. Let's go. -What happened to my Honda?
I'm sorry, baby, I had to crash that Honda.
Will you come on now, please? Come on. Let's go, let's go, let's go.
-You're hurt? -No, no, I might've broken my nose. It's no biggie.
Come on. Hop on. Baby, please, we-- Honey, we gotta hit the fuckin' road! Get on!
Oh, baby, I'm sorry. Come here, come here. I'm sorry.
-I'm so sorry. -You were gone so long, I started to think dreadful thoughts.
I didn't mean to worry you. Everything's fine. How was your breakfast?
-It was good. -Did you get the blueberry pancakes? -They didn't have blueberry; I had to get buttermilk. Are you sure you're okay?
Since I left you, this has been, without a doubt, the single weirdest fuckin' day of my life--
I'll tell you all about it. Gotta go. Come on.
-Butch, whose motorcycle is this? -It's a chopper, baby. -Whose chopper is this?
-Zed's. -Who's Zed? -Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.