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He's a priest, ain't he? Father frank, jr., your brother.
Your mother doesn't have much to cross herself about. You're so jealous of frank, jr.
Oh, shut up, will you? Hey!
What're you doin'? Hey, the shirt! Watch the shirt, stupid.
Basta! All right. Come on.
Mangia, mangia. Go ahead. Eat, eat.
I got more pork chops, more spaghetti.
You got more pork chops? I'm out of work.
As long as we got a dollar left, we eat good. I might get a job myself.
Like hell, you will. 25 years in construction work,
I always brought home a paycheck.
What, six, seven months I'm out of work...
Then, all of a sudden, what?
You're hittin' me and talkin' back. Talking about a job. No hitting at the table.
Okay? That's the rule. Hmm?
And you was the one was hittin'. You.
You never hit me before. Never.
Not in front of the kids.
One pork chop! One!
Hey! Frank! It's disgusting, ma. He's sick.
- Would ya just watch the hair? - [ frank grumbles ]
You know, I work on my hair a long time, and you hit it.
He hits my hair.
Take care of his hair. I'm gonna take a walk.
[ door opens, shuts ]
Tony, you walk me to church later? Didn't you go already today?
- Yeah, confession. I gotta go back and pray for somethin'. - For what?
I gotta pray for father frank jr. To call me.
[ girl ] why don't you call direct? A son should call his mother.
Wait a minute. You're goin' to church to have god make frank jr. Call you?
Right. I don't believe it.
You know, you're turnin' god into a telephone operator. [ laughs ]
[ horns honking ]