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JERE:
Colleen, we’re not here to sit in
judgement.
JESSE:
Why not?
Jesse looks up, eyes blazing. He fixes Jere with a challenging glare.
JESSE:
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I shoulda
put it in the paper. Maybe I shoulda done something different... The thing is... if you just do stuff and nothing happens -- what’s it all mean? What’s the point?
(a bitter realization) Oh, right, this whole thing is about “self-acceptance." JERE:
Kicking the hell out of yourself
isn’t going to give meaning to anything.
JESSE:
So I gotta stop “judging” and
“accept”? JERE:
That’s a start.
JESSE: (fury building)
No matter what I do, hooray for me, I’m a great guy! It’s alllll goooood. No matter how many dogs I kill, I “do an inventory” and “accept." You back your truck over your own kid and you, like, “accept”?! What a load of crap!
JERE:
Jesse, I can see you’re in pain,
but --
(The professional empathy gets under Jesse’s skin.) JESSE:
You know what? Why I’m here in the
first place? To sell you meth. All of you, you’re nothing to me but customers!
(to Jere)
I made you my bitch. You okay with that? You “accept”? Jere is truly pissed now. Maybe that’s all Jesse wanted from him in the first place.
JERE:
No.
Jesse looks around the room, searching for someone to challenge him. But there’s nothing but hostile silence.
JESSE:
About time.