M: Brian's gotta go.
K: That's yesterday's papers. Brian's out. Little Mick's our new man. We agreed on that weeks ago.
M: No, I mean, he's gotta go . . . within twenty-four hours his time expires.
K: Get out.
M: He always told us he wasn't going to make it to thirty.
K: Yeah, but that's just when we're having a laugh.
M: Think so?
K: (. . .)
M: See what I mean?
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