My dearest Brian...
a guy like me
looks in the mirror.

He either grins or he
starts to fade away.

And I haven't seen anything
to grin about in a long time.

This may not be
the most graceful exit...

but I know when
the bottle's empty.

About the only thing
I'm really going to miss...

are the conversations
we had going.

At least I get the last word
even if I had to mail it in.

Coughlin's Law: Bury the dead.
They stink up the joint.

As for the rest of
Coughlin's Laws, ignore them.

The guy was always
full of shit.

But I guess you
knew that already.

- Excuse me. The Mooneys. Brian Flanagan.
- I know who you are, pal.

But I've been instructed
not to let you into the building.

- If you'd just let...
- Leave now!

Look, I just want to talk to her for a few
minutes. I don't want to cause any trouble. Just...

- Send her a letter. Out!
- Get your hands off me, man.