Roy: You want it bad. I know you do. That’s why you’re trying to get me drunk.
Roy: I mean, who wouldn’t. Seriously. It must be three times the size of yours, for fuck’s sake.
Amos: I couldn’t give a toss about how big mine is. It’s not important to me. At all.
Roy: You’re a liar. Just give up now, okay? I worked my arse off to get that office. I earned it. So scuttle back to your little dog-box down the hall with your twenty-dollar view of the carpark and marinate in your jealousy, because the only way Gus will ever get me to vacate that office is in a goddamn stretcher. Got it?