Waffle Street Page #2

find out what they are.

It'll be fine, hon.

I know.

You'll figure it out.

At least one thing is gonna get a lot

easier with you home during the day.

I... I can't even think

about having babies right now.

We've already had

that conversation.

Yes, and now,

I don't have a job.

Well, you'll find one.

It could take a while.

We've waited four years

to be ready.

I want a baby.

I want us to have a baby.

I know.

But I'm really not in the

right head space right now.

Not even just a little?

Well, that's nice.

And if I do this?

(sighs)

Okay, maybe when you do that.

What is that?

What?

On your shirt.

Face scrub.

No, that's...

That's definitely vomit.

All right, well,

this shirt is coming off anyway.

Oh!

Jim:
The career turmoil

had caused me to reflect.

Not just on my own choices,

but on my family's long line

of working-class forefathers.

Men like my great-grandfather,

William Edward Preston.

He worked his way up from small-town

butcher to East Coast farming legend.

Not only did he harvest

his own crops,

but he managed their distribution

across New York City

and still found the time to run

a soup kitchen every Sunday.

My father and grandfather built their

legacy through honest, hard work.

For over 50 years,

they delivered chocolate to

supermarkets across the country.

From a young age, I was groomed and

expected to tread the family path.

My decision to pursue finance had been

met with a... lukewarm reception.

I told you not to go to work

for those crooks.

They're financial managers, Dad.

Grandpop Adams:
Anybody

that makes all their money

off other people's money

is a crook.

It doesn't matter

what you call them.

- Yeah, yeah.

- Case closed.

Dad:
Case is closed.

- Case is closed.

- Case is closed.

Yeah. Yeah, I'll have

another martini here, please.

- Oh, that sounds great.

- Yeah.

Now... here's what

we're gonna do, Jim.

We're gonna put you to work

in the warehouse.

Help you to start making

some honest money.

You know Jim doesn't have any

interest in the warehouse, Dad.

Let me see your hand, Jim.

Right. Look at his hand.

Look at your son's hand.

- I don't wanna look at this hand.

- Go ahead.

I know what his hand looks like.

Mom:

He doesn't wanna look at it.

It's like a woman's.

Is that a manicure?

- James.

- That's enough, Dad.

- I was only asking.

- No, it's enough.

- I don't know what's normal these days.

- That's enough.

No, I, uh...

I don't have a manicure.

I like his hands.

And what's wrong

with our business?

It's raised this family

for two generations.

- That's true.

- And I appreciate that.

I just... I wanna

find my own way.

Yeah.

Sorry, Dad.

No need to be sorry.

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