Hobo: [to a group of newborn babies] A long time ago I was one of you. You're all brand new and perfect. No mistakes, no regrets. People look at you and think of how wonderful your future will be. They want you to be something special... like a... a doctor or a lawyer. I hate to tell you this, but if you grow up here, you're more likely to wind up selling your bodies on the streets, or shooting dope from dirty needles in a bus stop. And if you're successful, you'll make money selling junk to crackheads. And you won't think twice about killing someone's wife, because you won't even know what was wrong in the first place. Or, maybe... you'll end up like me - a hobo with a shotgun! I hope you can do better. You are the future.