the only reason i stay inside all day is to avoid the paparazzi
WILL: Reserved parking spots? Reserved parking spots, Sloan? Our news division is bleeding money and the network is laying off producers and talent and you’re talking to me about parking spots? A reserved parking spot’s a privilege, Sloan. A privilege. That’s true. But it’s also an illusion. Reserved, just for you. It’s no one else’s. It’s your own little kingdom, the two parallel lines you squeeze between, like the hardened walls of a fortress. You’re in there; secure. It’s your own private fucking Idaho. Right? No. No, Sloan. There is no fortress. There are no walls; there is no fucking Idaho. There are just two stupid parallel lines, occupying all of two dimensions, indicating to you that you are somehow better than the rest of humanity, forced to fight for all the other spots across this barren asphalt field around a department store, or next to a meter on a street, or at some overpriced fucking parking garage! (Beat.) You want a reserved parking spot? Take a God-damned bus.
SLOAN: You’re such a blowhard, Will. (Beat.) By the way, your fucking limo is downstairs.