Air filled with the smell of alcohol and cigars. People are drinking and talking to the faint music. Taylor and Ken are sitting in their corner.

“You know I can´t take it anymore,” Taylor said.

“I know, but what else do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, maybe not work, or at least not a pointless job.”

“So go and find it.”

“Yeah, just go and find a better job. Do I look like someone who’ll go and beg some guy for a better job?”

“Do you know another way?”

“No.”

“Did you at least try?”

“No, I won't sell myself so I can work more, and I won't sell myself for some miracle trick that never works.”

“What did you expect? For everything to be easy?”

“No, I expect life to be manageable. Maybe owning something would be great.”

Ken chuckled, “Yeah, it would.”

“Or maybe be capable of saving something at least, and not waste everything just to survive.”

“You could put it into savings accounts.”

“Good one. Save everything and hope some guy who has no idea what he’s doing doesn’t mess it all up.”

“You can always put everything on red.”

“Can you be serious for once?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Be serious, for what? Face it, there is no escape.”

“Maybe that's why I am talking to you.”

“This is prison; the sooner you get it, the sooner you will feel better.”

“I will never give up.”

“Maybe that's why I keep talking to you.”

“You can escape from any prison. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you’ll feel better.”

“I already gave up.”