 Poor old man. Sleep it off. In the president's office. Mitchell, does he drink like this every night on duty? Mike? Oh, it's nothing. All the men in the bank know about it. Except the boss. Last ten years, old Mike has been hopping out for a half hour every night that way. To Gil's place around the corner. Mitchell, I'm leaving you. I'm tired of this life. Earning nothing a week. Always counting the money other men have made for their women.