Three days. Shitty little village outside Kandahar. You watch a man that long, you can get to know him better than his wife does. How he reads the paper, picks his nose, what glass he likes for tea, what one for milk. If he jerks off, what he looks at when he does. If he's nice to the dog when no one's around.
Well, nothing elaborate. Imagine taking Shirley to the movies, watching Price is Right, eating takeout Chinese. They eventually stopped that, the business with the stories.
They found some folks get so involved in the tales they're telling themselves, they grow to like the target. And when they got the green light, they couldn't pull.
I got sent here, I think because they knew it was the one place I didn't want to go. In fact, as I recall, Winona and I promised each other we'd never come back here.
[discussing Pulp Fiction] I'm saying, why does he still have his gun out in the first place? When's the last time you rode around in a car holding your gun?
JJoe
'Cause it's a movie! That don't happen, then there's no movie. No messy car, no cleaner. I mean, what do they do? They drive home, jerk off, take a nap?
