Spider: I don't like it Willie. I hear wolves.
Willie: What you talking 'bout, wolves?
Spider: (slow, bitter, with rising cold anger) Well, the landlord is a cold wind at your back and the finance people got a tank double-parked on the street. When you step out the door, newspapers snap at your ankles and the pigeons start bitchin' that the neighborhood goin' all to trash. I hear wolves, Willie, and they don't like your smell.
You been lettin' yourself go, boy. The rent is due on your haircut, your necktie could use a press, and what you call a suit I wouldn't use to dust my car. There's ugly rumors goin' round about you Willie, and people say those rumors are truth. I hear wolves, and they got cold steel claws and long sharp teeth -- and their eyes, their eyes Willie, their eyes are sharper and colder and starin' right. at. your. throat.
You got to take some stock here Willie boy. Junk mail has stopped comin' to your door, waitresses forget your section, even the wrong number recording wants to know just. who. the. fuck. you. think. you. are. Willie, this is a cold Monday morning in a no-cheque month in the year of the desk sargeant!
(pause)
And... I been makin' some book, on your fi-nal va-cation dest-in-ation. And it's twenty-to-one; and ain't no-body takin'.
I hear wolves, Willie, and they are circlin' to pull you down and cut you up. Wolves, Willie. That, is what I am talking about.