Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

for stretches of clean time.

Ioitering, coke, attempted theft, dope...

Excuse me, while I do my duty and kiss some senatorial haunches.

Same thing, ain't it?

and whatever else.

Five years minimum, and he's got prior felonies...

-Detective? -I need to pull one out.

Then, my friend, you are double-fucked.

Where the shop at?

Bird will throw down without thinking, for sure.

-Going to Barksdale? -Going anywhere.

Is he still in there?

-Santangelo? -Santangelo.

Rawls tried to close this thing down last week.

I don't even fucking remember this one. I swear I don't.

You sit here looking at beeper messages for five hours at a time?

But I mostly go by Lieutenant.

Madame fucking LaRue, Jay?

Without knowing his crib, we definitely got a problem.

A stickup artist with a half-dozen priors. That's your eyeball witness?

You know why I respect you so much, Bunk?

I think it was my turn to pick.

-Sarcasm, Judge? -No.

-Daniels? -I couldn't believe it either.

What's the plan here?

And then we tag-team Bird.

You ain't got shit on me.

Yeah, look what we have here.

Last chance to grab a little something for yourself on a deal.

And they ain't handling no money, no vials.

Seeing as how you're being all charitable with your recollections...

"Detective McNulty makes a mess...

The money's going everywhere.

Weather updated around the clock on WTOP radio.

or a sincere desire to live?

and I was out there on them corners...

-All right. Bey, tear them motherfuckers out. -Come on, man.

But everyone over there with a window had a view.

You ain't got shit on me!

Ain't you gonna sign it?

Whose fault is that?

He's saying they're sold out in the low-rises...

or who you done it to.

Worked Frederick Road.

Yeah, which one?

You're gonna have to do it.

Yo, I'm cuffed, man.

You got to put this Gant thing on Bird...

These are all yours, and they're all open, Sanny.

I would love to throw a fuck into her.

She transcends the rational.

-My uncle know about it? -No, see.

They always let the Yankees back into it, always.

I want a Reese's, yo. Peanut butter cup.

Until this shit is straight, the Pit is dead.

Even in this city, that constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.

careful, that is.