Riff Dixon is obviously the name of somebody else. If he wanted you to
know who he is, you would have to wonder. He's serious about being somebody
else, and he means it when he's serious.
"Call me Riff."
"You don't like it?"
"I don't believe it."
"This is my idea of getting off on the wrong foot." I felt like grabbing her by the shirt-scruff and showing her through the door.
"My, aren't we sensitive."
"I like sensitive men."
"They make me laugh."
"Is this what you're usually like?"
"Funny,I was going to ask you the same thing."
"That grudging affection we seem to be groping for is eluding us so far, wouldn't you say?"
"What is it you don't like most about me?"
"I don't feel I really know you well enough to not like you."
"It sounds like we're sharing a mutual impression."
"It's kind of an active, sustained indifference."
"Which isn't passing with time."
"Far from it."
"You said it."
"It's almost interesting."
"I'm not always this indifferent."
"Is that what you came here to tell me?"
"Your apathy to my indifference is apparent."
"I'd match my apathy to your indifference with anyone's"
"It must have been just like this the first time somebody said 'I couldn't care less.'"
"If I cared any less I'd hurt myself."
"Your apathy is infectious."
"Your case or mine?" My remark finally penetrated our momentum. We could sit here and not get anywhere together all day at this rate.
"I'd like to find out about somebody."
"Business or pleasure?"
"I'm doing this for somebody else."
"Am I supposed to believe you?"
"You're just supposed to be able to believe me." She had an edge to her you could almost stand on and look over
"I always make it a policy to try to trust what I'm hearing."
"I pay extra for a little suspended disbelief."
"Now we're getting somewhere."