Work for yourself, live for yourself. That's the only way.

Give yourself time. Ideas'll come. Life'll shake you, roll you, maybe embrace you. The music'll find you.

You guys aren't exactly great at rollin' out the welcome mat for outsiders.

What, smoking after sex not Zen enough for you? We gotta rewrite "The Art of War", too?

Another sinner finds himself in the place he belongs to. A trunk.
Gustavo now suffers the purgatory he deserves. And perhaps has a moment to examine his conscience. Let's hope he finds it before the trunk opens back up.