:02:01
My name is Erwin Fletcher.
:02:03
I'm an investigative reporter
for a Los Angeles paper.
:02:05
You've probably read my stuff
under the byline of Jane Doe.
:02:08
Is better than Erwin.
:02:11
Recently I've been
loitering around the beach...
:02:14
trying to pass for
a minor league junkie.
:02:17
I don't nod out or drool;
thas too obvious.
:02:20
Act like you don't care
and you fit right in.
:02:23
[Whistles]
Business has really picked up.
:02:25
I'm still closed.
:02:27
Is it a Colombian national holiday?
:02:34
What do you figure, Sam?
:02:36
No idea.
:02:37
- No idea at all?
- Some idea.
:02:40
Like when?
:02:42
When it comes, it comes.
:02:44
I got some reds.
:02:47
You don't mean communists,
do you?
:02:49
Is everything a joke
to you, Fletch?
:02:52
Everything, Sam.
:02:55
- Hey, Gummy!
- Hey, Fletch. Hey, Sam.
:02:58
How's the eye?
:03:00
Is OK.
The cops did it.
:03:02
They always
beating up on me.
:03:24
- He doesn't know.
- Son of a bitch!
:03:28
Thas what he said.
:03:30
He doesn't know?
How come he doesn't know?
:03:34
I don't know.
He just doesn't know.
:03:36
Son of a bitch!
:03:39
I wonder how he
gets the stuff.
:03:41
I have no idea.
:03:43
Sam never leaves the beach.
:03:45
He sits in that chair.
He's out of shit.
:03:49
Suddenly he gets up,
he's got shit.
:03:52
Where's it coming from?
The sand?
:03:55
Thas highly unlikely, Grease.
:03:59
I oughta get some sleep.