I was working as a hitman. I was a little lonely in my flea-bag hotel room, cleaning my gun, and listening to Rush Limbaugh on the radio. Every now and then a rat would dart across the floor. Actually, rats are good company. I remember I was talking to him when the landlady slid something under the door. I was saying, "You, me and Rush," I was saying, "we are all rats, filthy fucking rats. What's that? It's an envelope. I bet it's work. What the hell do you know about work?"