Your body can be chrome... but the heart never changes. It wants what it wants.

The wind whistling through boarded-up windows. Tumbleweeds scratching across dry, sandy tracks. That's how towns die. Not with a bang, but with whispers and whimpers.

V: Mean to tell me you can pin the exact drug from just a whiff? Like a police dog, or what?
Johnny: I'd say more like a... a sommelier.

Well, that way you'd kill two souls. Is that what you want?

V: Used to be a media, didn't you?
Regina: Not hard to guess, but I'll give you a point for perceptiveness.