Demolition Page #3

What?

Gypsy moths.

They'll destroy your trees.

It starts as a caterpillar.

They eat the leaves, lay eggs...

And they're coming here,

to this neighborhood?

Well, they don't know for sure,

but you should tell

your guy to spray.

And of course,

the train incident...

I feel like I should

tell you something.

Um, I'm in finance.

I don't know why I told you

that I worked in

the mattress business.

I guess I didn't

expect to see you

every day for five years.

You think I'm a dick.

I don't work for

the Yankees anymore.

Got fired over a drainage issue

in the visitors' bullpen.

I work security now

at parade of shoes in midtown.

F***in' job. Excuse me.

My little prick of a boss.

He's 30 years younger than me.

I just wanna go in there

and smash his little prick face.

Jeez.

I didn't love my wife.

I know, it's sad...

It's sad to say,

but now that she's gone,

I don't even feel sad

or pain or hurt, or...

Well, what do you feel?

I couldn't tell you

why I did it.

So that's when you pulled it.

Maybe because

I was finally being honest.

Yes.

And you knew that would

stop the train, correct?

Well, I wasn't positive,

but I was hoping.

All I can say is,

it felt like

a legitimate emergency.

His wife just died.

Davis, maybe you should

come stay with us for a while.

Take it easy.

We have the extra room.

I could sure use help

putting that gazebo together.

How's that sound?

Remember

to tell your guy to spray.

Hello again,

it's Davis Mitchell.

My parents left

for Tampa this afternoon,

and I stayed at the airport

an extra two hours

watching people

walk back and forth

with their luggage in tow.

I find I'm suddenly

filled with... wait...

Overwhelmed by...

A growing sense of curiosity...

What are in these bags?

I wanna know what these people

can't do without

for four days in buffalo.

I wanna go through

every one of them

and dump their sh*t

in a huge pile.

And the national guard guy?

I wanna hold his gun.

I wanna protect my country.

I'm starting to notice things

I never saw before.

Well...

Maybe I saw them.

I just wasn't paying attention.

For some reason,

everything has become

a metaphor.

Metaphor...

Metaphor...

I am the uprooted tree.

No, wait...

I am the storm

that uprooted the tree.

I am the cold front

that collided with

the low-pressure system.

Too much.

Morning, Amy.

Put a stamp on that?

There's something else,

dearest vending company.

It's been scratching

at the inside of my head.

I couldn't take it

one second longer.

The goddamn refrigerator

was leaking.

Now, I wouldn't say

I'm handy by any means.

Mechanically retarded

would be closer to the truth.

But Phil said it himself,

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