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Vincent: Gotcha. And how old are you, exactly, that you smoke like a 1910's businessman-trust me I would know-and yet you still live with your mom? 

"...I don't have enough money to go anywhere but a hotel.."

Vincent: ...Y'know you'd have more money if you didn't spend it on expensive ass cigs right? 

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"...maybe my money wouldn't go down the drain if you stopped throwing my shit down into gutters!"

Vincent: ...

He sighs, running a hand through his hair 

Vincent: Alright. I've decided. From now on, you work for me. I'll let ya live here for free, I don't have food so you're gonna have to figure that one out yourself, and I'll pay you-I dunno-like, $10 dollars an hour? That's fair right? 

"...why would you do that..?"

Vincent throws his hands up in the air 

Vincent: I dunno, cuz I'm a fuckin' bleedingheart! Do you want the job or not!? 

"Please."

Vincent: Great. Now you honestly don't have to do jackshit if you want-just don't tell anyone about anything you might see-or hear...oh-and recognize that this whole operation isn't entirely...legal...

"Great, now I'm doing illegal shit."