“-Are we good? Yeah, we’re good. We’re beautiful. We’re perfect. This is A grade, one-hundred percent pure Colombian cocaine, Ladies and Gentlemen. Disco shit.”
“-What we’re doing is measuring the purity. Pure coke melts out a hundred and eighty-five, a hundred and ninety degrees. Cutting agents, they melt away at about a hundred. And quality product, well that starts melting around a hundred and forty degrees. 130. 140. Good. 150. Fucking right! 160. Jesus Christ. 170. 180. 187! Where did you get this stuff? -Colombia. -Damn! Do you mind if I do a line?! -No. Let’s all do it.”
“I can’t feel my face. I can’t touch, but I can’t feel.”
