Pulp Fiction Page #2

YOUNG WOMAN:

Did they hurt the little girl?

YOUNG MAN:

I don't know. There probably never

was a little girl – the point of the

story isn't the little girl. The

point of the story is they robbed

the bank with a telephone.

YOUNG WOMAN:

You wanna rob banks?

YOUNG MAN:

I'm not sayin' I wanna rob banks,

I'm just illustrating that if we

did, it would be easier than what we

been doin'.

YOUNG WOMAN:

So you don't want to be a bank robber?

YOUNG MAN:

Naw, all those guys are goin' down

the same road, either dead or servin'

twenty.

YOUNG WOMAN:

And no more liquor stores?

YOUNG MAN:

What have we been talking about?

Yeah, no more-liquor-stores. Besides,

it ain't the giggle it usta be. Too

many foreigners own liquor stores.

Vietnamese, Koreans, they can't

f***in' speak English. You tell 'em:

"Empty out the register," and they

don't know what it f***in' means.

They make it too personal. We keep

on, one of those gook motherfuckers'

gonna make us kill 'em.

YOUNG WOMAN:

I'm not gonna kill anybody.

YOUNG MAN:

I don't wanna kill anybody either.

But they'll probably put us in a

situation where it's us of them. And

if it's not the gooks, it these old

Jews who've owned the store for

fifteen f***in' generations. Ya got

Grandpa Irving sittin' behind the

counter with a f***in' Magnum. Try

walkin' into one of those stores

with nothin' but a telephone, see

how far it gets you. F*** it, forget

it, we're out of it.

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