- Harold: You're a dead-end kid though, ain't you? I know... I know a fucking dead-end kid when I see one.
- Harold: There's your feelings.
- Treat: What's the matter with my feelings?
- Harold: They're still uncontroleable.
- Treat: What am I supposed to do with them, huh?
- Harold: Ah did... did you ever try counting to ten?
- Treat: Counting to ten?
- Harold: Yeah. You know one, two, three, four, etcetera.
- Treat: You must be kidding, right?
- Harold: I'm serious. It's the first step to give your emotions time to settle down.
- [Trent angrily walks up the stairs counting to ten]
- Harold: Drop the knife, Treat. Little dead-end kid. My own little dead-end kid. You're gonna be dead, dead-end kid.
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