Lou: Now I know how Mary Shelly felt.
Tommy: Franco-stein.

Sidney: You know, now that morale is at an all time low, between Garrity and Franco, this place is spic and span.
Lou: I guess that would make Garrity, "span."

I find it amazing, ten years after the worst attack perpetrated on American soil, I mean a decade later, there's still not a standing monument to everyone who died that day.


I got news for you pal. You're already dead. And I am too. We're both walking dead men. We're zombies, Tom. Forget about 343. You add in all the other guys in all of the other houses, and all of the brain cells that we've killed, and all of the marriages that we've destroyed, all of the kids whose dad's have that blank stare on their face for the past decade, and all of those zombies still riding around on their rigs for ten years, Tom, ten years, trying to fill in the holes inside them. 343, that number ain't even close. So, do what you got to do, Tom. Go downtown, bury yourself in that hole, and make it official. Make it 344. Just for God sakes, just get it over with, Tom, so the rest of us can go back to leading our quiet little zombie lives.


I am so sick and tired of you and this 9/11 bullshit. We lost 343 guys that day, Tom, officially. Officially. But let's be honest, look at the two of us, I got a hole inside of me the size of that crater downtown that I've been filling up with flood and you've got a hole inside of you too that you've been filling up with booze.


Lou: The last time you wrote letters, Tom, they were to the mayor's office when they were shutting down all those firehouses and because of your drunken, pigeon scrawl, you caused a lot of confusion. Because every time you wrote the word truck, they thought it was...
Tommy: I know what they thought it was.

Colleen: This does not feel like us. It's so peaceful, so polished, so classy, so un-Gavin.
Sheila: Put an open bar and a dance floor over there and it's going to get plenty Gavin, plenty quick.

Lou: Someone reported a gas leak.
Black Shawn: Oh shit, we going over to Garrity's place?

Lou: So, you're girlfriend is a farter.
Sean: No. She is not... what you said.
Sidney: A farter.
Sean: Could we not use that term?
Franco: Oh, you mean the term "farter?"
Sean: Yes.
Lou: How about the term fart-ay?
Sean: No!
Black Shawn: Fart-ay. That's not bad. I mean it has a nice little French ring to it.
Lou: Kind of classes it up a litle.
Sean: No. Nothing with the "f" word in it, please.

The sex you don't remember, the see through shirt, and the moonlight, but somewhere in that dark, dense, tangled, mangled of a shit storm you dare to call a brain, you remember the letter. Right? Because it pertains to you and what you need right now!


You can't memorialize somebody by plastering their name up on a wall of concrete and steel. You do it by talking about their deeds. You have to remember their faces, their spirit. You have to remember the firefighters on the morning of 9/11 and what they did before they went downtown.


Tommy: I owe you big time for this.
Sheila: No. I did this for us. I did this for all of us.
Tommy: For the brotherhood?
Sheila: No, silly, for the Gavins.