All language subtitles for you.s01e01.Pilot uncensored.720p.webrip.hevc.x265.rmteam

Well, hello there.

Who are you?

Based on your vibe, a student.

Your blouse is loose.

You're not here to be ogled,
but those bracelets, they jangle.

You like a little attention.

Okay, I bite.

You search the books.
Fiction, "F" through "K."

Now...

Hmm, you're not
the standard insecure nymph

hunting for Faulkner you'll never finish.

Too sun-kissed for Stephen King.

Who will you buy?

Sorry.

You sound apologetic,
like you're embarrassed to be a good girl,

and you murmur your first word to me.

Hello.

Do you work here?

Guilty.

- Can I help you find something?
- Paula Fox.

It's a good choice.

Hmm, I feel weirdly validated.

Follow me.

She's gonna be in here.

"Celebrity authors"?
I thought Fox was pretty obscure.

She is Courtney Love's
maternal grandmother.

You're not expected to know that.

Good. I didn't.

Mr. Mooney wants anyone in here
who's even tangentially famous.

He thinks it sells more books.

That's sad.

People buying books
because of what's popular,

and not because they wanna be moved
or changed in some way.

Yeah. It's an epidemic.

Yeah, you see this guy?
Here, the glasses, behind you.

He just grabbed Dan Brown's latest
on the way in.

So he's gonna wander around
for another, like, five or ten minutes,

just to find something legitimate
to buy with it.

Oh, like the cereal guys buy
when they're really there for condoms.

Only makes it more conspicuous.
Like, own your shit.

If Dan Brown's your kink,
then be out about it.

At the end of the day,

people really are disappointing,
aren't they?

Sometimes they surprise you.

- Paula Fox. Top shelf. You want me to...
- Oh, no, I got it.

Oh. Are you not wearing a bra?

And you want me to notice.

If this was a movie,

I'd grab you
and we'd go at it right in the stacks.

Have you read her fiction?
Desperate Characters, it's her best.

That's what I keep hearing.

- You haven't read Desperate Characters?
- I know. I know.

I'm worried
it's not gonna live up to the hype.

I can safely say it is that good.

That's a high endorsement.
And from a bookstore clerk, nonetheless.

Well, it's bookstore manager.

Hello? Anyone working here?

- Asshole.
- Mmm...

Whoa.

Do you mind? Uh, I'm in a hurry.

He's just pissed he's gotta
buy Salinger to feel respectable

when all he really wants to do
is eat Cheetos and jerk it to iPorn

before washing it all down
with a Dan Brown chaser.

Have a nice day, sir.

Okay, I'm going for it.

- Good. You won't regret it.
- I'd better not.

Paula Fox. Nice.

You know, she was, uh,
Courtney Love's maternal grandmother.

That's why I'm buying it.

You have enough cash to cover this,
but you want me to know your name.

- "Guinevere"?
- Yeah.

My parents were assholes
with the whole naming thing.

But everyone just calls me Beck.

And you're Joe...

Goldberg.

Everyone calls me Joe.

Aren't you gonna tell me
to have a nice day?

You have a nice day, Beck.

You have one yourself, Joe.

You smiled, laughed at my jokes,

told me your name, asked for mine.

She write her number on there?
She was on you hard.

No, she was just being nice.

I'd be googling the hell out of her
right now.

You know her full name.

That's pretty aggressive, Ethan.

What do I tell you?
Always be closing that shit.

If you need me,
I'll be in cookbooks.

But for work. Not for fun. I swear.

At the end of the day, people are
really just disappointing, aren't they?

But are you, Beck? Are you?

Yes, people find "the one."

I believe that. I try to stay open.

I was in love once.
She broke my heart, Beck.

Ugh, she really did a number on me.

I should've seen the signs.

But we never do when we're in love.

Exhibit A. Claudia and Ron.

I went out for a couple of drinks.
Get off my back.

Claudia's a nurse. Single parent.

Leave me alone!
You're on your phone...

You think she knew Ron was a shitbag
when she fell in love?

No, she thought he was a prince.

Hey, Paco.

'Sup, Joe?

And now,

- hers is not the only life she ruined.
- Leave me alone!

Why is coming home such a chore for you?

Is everything cool in there?

Yeah, Mom and Ron are just talking.

You always go out
with your friends!

- And I'm sick of it!
- Wow.

You are burning through that book,
aren't you?

Reads quick. It's good.

Let me know when you finish.
I'll get you another one.

Screw you, Ron! Get out of here!
Leave me alone.

Are you hungry?

'Cause, you know,
I just got this meatball sub,

but I remembered
I have Thai from last night.

Nah. My mom will just
make me something later.

That's a shame. This won't keep.
It's getting tossed.

You sure, Joe?

"All for one and one for all."

The point, Beck...
Love is, uh, tricky.

A guy needs to protect himself.

I had to be sure you're safe.

And your name
was a glorious place to start.

Not a lot of Guinevere Becks.

And there you were.
Every account set to public.

You want to be seen, heard, known.

Of course, I obliged.

Born and raised, Nantucket Island.

A brother, Clyde, and sister, Anya.

Your parents really were assholes
about the names.

Your folks split when you were 12.
Your dad dropped out of the picture.

Went to Brown
where you majored in lit. Cool.

And minored in douchebags. Hmm.

And then on to NYC to conquer an MFA
and make your mark, presumably.

Now you still write. Barely.

Too busy living out moments
you won't remember five years from now.

I know this because you post
about this life all the goddamn time.

Candidly, it's the least
appealing thing about you, Beck.

You posted this hours after our encounter.

I was concerned you didn't mention
that cute guy in a bookstore.

And then I realized
your online life isn't real.

It's a collage.

You paste this Beck up. This...

together, lovable, cute,
bendy little creature.

If anything, the fact that
you didn't share me with your followers

only confirms we really connected.

The next thing our little friend
the Internet gave me was your address.

There it is, with its big, naked windows.

It's nice. Too nice.

I'm thinking subsidized school housing.

Jesus! It's like you've never
seen a horror movie or the news.

But you want people to watch, don't you?

You know,
I plan on asking you about this quality

when we get to know each other better.

A proposal.

Why don't we
spend the day together tomorrow?

Just you and me?

To everyone out there
chasing their dreams, don't give up.

And in the meantime, mac and cheese!

It's cute. Not deep. But cute.
Is there more to you? Let's find out.

Our day starts at the ass-crack of dawn.

I know from your posted schedule
that you teach a 6:30 class

called Get Up N Flow.

You caress the sweaty backs of bulimic,
dead-eyed real mommies of SoHo...

I am loving your form today, Tasha.

...offering smiles
and lies of encouragement.

By 10:00, you're at campus
to TA a Romantics class

and play Vanna White to some shirt.

Morning, Professor Leahy.

I told you, it's Paul.
Are you ready for class?

Professor Obvious wants to fuck you.

Now, you're smart.
You let him think one day he might.

And what's the harm in that, right?

After class,
you head to your favorite café

to write for the first time all day.

But your life doesn't cooperate.

Your wealthy girlfriends
have just now woken up,

and have nothing better to do

than plan their next pointless
yet instagrammable night.

Can we get real for a second?

You have questionable taste in friends,
Beck.

- Cheers!
- Yeah!

- Oh, yes. Happy birthday!
- Thank you so much.

And expensive taste in lives.

- Ready?
- Thank you.

Do you like it?

No, I hate it. Of course I love it!

Jason didn't even
get her something that nice,

and Annika finally let him do anal.

- Oh, my God!
- Please, please, it was time.

Please open my gift next and tell me
how much you hate me then, lady.

A butterfly? It's my spirit animal
for the year. You remembered?

Only 'cause you wouldn't shut up about it.

You want so badly to be one of them.

- Happy birthday.
- You look so beautiful.

Well, they've got nothing to do
after this.

So, yeah, they'll party till 5:00
and scrape it together tomorrow.

But you can't.
You have to work for a living.

A McQueen, Beck? How much was it?

It was on clearance.

They haven't put a McQueen scarf
on clearance

since he hung himself in 2010.

It'd be too much
even if she did deserve it,

which she does not.

Hmm. Not all your friends are dumb.

You always do this.

You make, like, a big gesture
that you can't afford because...

- I'm sorry, you're too nice.
- It's no big deal. I had, um, a gift card.

How broke are you?

Just tell me what's up.

Actually sounds like she cares.

Look, I appreciate...

Why don't you just let me
loan you some cash?

Okay? I keep telling you, it's nothing.

Also, sounds condescending.

You know I'd do anything for you.
Don't forget that.

- Sure you can't come out with us?
- I gotta write.

Virtuous. Catch you later?

Is that the best friend you've got?

If so, Beck, you really are alone.

Your social media's a liar.

It says
you're a happy-go-lucky dilettante.

But, underneath it all,
you seem like the genuine article.

Stretched ADD thin, sure,
but as soon as the door closes...

you're back at the keyboard,
trying to write.

Thanks.

Keep the change, man.

Hey. Let me up.

Uh, Beck, who the fuck is this?

My best friend walked in
on you getting your dick sucked

by some random woman in a bathroom
at a party that I took you to!

I was wasted. I didn't even finish.

That's your apology? "I didn't cum."
That's the one you're going with?

I obviously shouldn't have gone
in the bathroom

with any girl that wasn't you.

But she said she had good coke,
and I'd been seriously stressed.

I thought,
when Johno and I started our line,

it was gonna be like
picking out flavors and shit.

It turns out it's 16-hour lectures
on microbial management.

And that's why no one starts
their own artisanal soda company,

and why America has to keep drinking crap
that's giving 'em cancer.

You actually managed to connect
your illicit blowjob to curing cancer.

I'm genuinely impressed.

Beck, I...

Seriously, I am drowning in work.

I don't have time to keep hooking up
or whatever it is you're even capable of.

I know I've done some stupid shit,
but I'm on it now.

I don't wanna be
just some guy you sleep with.

God, you make me insane.

Way to go, Beck.
Looks like a catch.

Benjamin J. Ashby III.
Oh, there's three of them.

Greenwich-born, boarding-school bred.

His father is the Ben Ashby
of Ashby Brokerage.

Two failed careers. Model. Oh, boy.

And co-creator of a dating app

that connects people
through musical tastes called LoveHooks.

Current CEO of Home Soda
Artisanal Beverages.

Motto...

"Drink better by hand,"
which makes no sense,

but evokes a homespun quality

that lines up with a guy
who wears $600 Japanese sneakers.

The hair, the privilege he tries to hide
with retweets of Black Lives Matter.

Not to sound judgey, but this guy
is everything wrong with America.

See, this is why I do my research.

You fall for the wrong men.

Bad men.

You let them in. You let them hurt you.

Too far away to know for sure,
but my guess is,

if he came anywhere close
to making you cum,

you would've made a Broadway show
out of it.

But you didn't, 'cause he didn't.

- "Desperate Characters."
- Yeah, I just got it.

Borrow it when I'm done.
It's supposed to be her best.

Johno's consultant we brought in,

she's been all over me
about this kind of thing.

Saged the crap out of the office.

The book title
has the word "desperate" in it.

You don't want to think of yourself
as a desperate character, Beck.

Because you're the opposite, babe.

You're the smartest girl I know.

Honestly, you blow me away.

Oh, shit. Gotta roll.
Johno's blowing up my phone.

Hey, you should come by the office,
test out some new flavors.

We're doing cumin.
I know how much you like Indian food.

Sure. Sounds good.

It looks good on you, by the way.

The extra weight.

Yeah. Hey. I'm on my way, bro.

You guys ordering pizzas?

Yeah, don't dick me over like last time.
Gluten-free crust.

Not from that vegan place.
Vegan cheese tastes like asshole.

I'm talking French gourmet shit.

No. Johno. Johno. Listen to me.

They can't do half-gluten-free
'cause it's dough.

They have to use a spelt dough.

So you didn't finish.

Just like that.

Thank you. You're so kind.

I don't suppose you can
help me get a cab, can you?

Of course.

- Thanks.
- Yeah.

Wow. Don't tell me
you're finished already.

Almost.

It's so good.

Sometimes the dialogue's weird, though.

Like when they're killing each other
and still all nice about it.

Well, it was the 19th century.
People still had manners.

I was hoping we could go get another one.

I mean, it's pretty late, Pac.
I don't know.

Oh, yeah.

I want you to cum...

Something's
in the air tonight, Beck,

'cause everyone but me is getting action.

Even the lovebirds made up.

Yeah. Yeah, why not? Sure.

Did you know
Dumas was a black dude? I googled him.

His grandmother was a slave,
and his dad was a brigadier general.

He killed like half a battalion.

You probably knew that
since you work at a bookstore.

I didn't.

- How'd you get to work here, anyway?
- Mr. Mooney gave me a job

when I was just a little older than you.
He sort of took me in.

- He seems nice.
- He's a dick.

But he loved books,
and he taught me to love them, too.

I never see him around here.

- Is he dead?
- No. He's just old.

I'm sorry, Pac.

I had one back here for you,
but Ethan must've sold it.

- Sold what?
- Your next read.

Come on. I'll show you
where we keep the good stuff.

Freaky.

It's the Cage.

It's where we keep
early editions and collectibles.

It's cold.

Sixty-five degrees. For the books.

If the zombies come,
this is where I'm hiding.

Why don't you set that milkshake down?

Careful, Joseph.

When it comes to the value of a book,
it's all about condition. I'll show you.

It's always 65 degrees.

Humidity 40%.
Too moist, the pages can mildew...

Too dry, they get brittle.

Always keep books upright

so the spines don't become rolled
or warped or what we call "cocked."

And we never wanna
fold or crease the pages.

And we dust the covers
with a chemical-free duster.

Always towards the spine.

Under no circumstances
is there any sunlight in this room.

Sunlight can ruin a book as fast as fire.

Faster.

That's a lot of stuff to remember
just to take care of some old books.

The most valuable things in life
are usually...

the most helpless.

So they need people like us
to protect them. You know?

"Don Quicks-oat."

Quixote.
It's about a guy who believes in chivalry,

so he decides to be an old-school knight.

What's chivalry?

It's treating people with respect.
Especially women. Like men should.

It's good. It's one of my favorites.

I probably shouldn't take this home.

It's not a first edition,
it's just an old one.

Besides, I trust you.

- Where you been, Paco?
- We just grabbed some milkshakes.

- You just walk off with strangers?
- Joe's not a stranger.

Yes, he is.

Inside. Now. Okay?

Keep away from my girlfriend's kid.

Look, I'm sorry, but he was out here,
and he could hear everything in there.

Don't you tell me how to parent.

This whole nice guy act
might work on other people.

I'm a parole officer, 15 years,
and I can see what you are.

Well, you're an alcoholic shitbag
who beats women.

So, please, enlighten me.

You're a freak.

So, stay away from Paco,
because if you don't,

I'll grab a steak knife
and I'll cut those freak eyes out.

There are scary people
in the world, Beck.

That's why it's important to be safe.

And why I have to do what I'm about to do.

Fun fact.

Did you know the law requires
gas leaks to be investigated?

I've been learning a lot since I met you.

Hey, Beck? You left the door open again.

I thought we said
we weren't gonna do that anymore.

I was careful to call the gas company
on a day when you had a full schedule.

I wouldn't wanna scare you.

Hey. Is Beck here?

Nope. Super let me in.
Someone reported a leak.

Right. Yeah. She mentioned that.
Is everything okay?

Yeah, all clear.
Tell your girlfriend there's no leak.

I'm done, so...

Okay. Thanks. Well, I can just lock up.

I just need to know who you really are.

Besides a broke poetry student

in a subsidized apartment
you could never afford.

Where is it, Beck?

When we live together,
your place won't be a pigsty.

I'll clean for us.

And you won't eat all this frozen shit.
I'll cook for you every day. I promise.

I'll even do your laundry.

And take care of your favorite books.

I'll make our bed every morning.

Oh, there it is.

And no matter how hard you fight me,

I will always make sure
you password protect your devices.

"One day
You won't need love anymore

One day, you won't walk through the world

As though it was your job
To hold everything up

The sun, the sky
The hard part of the night"

It's good.

It's quite good.

But, Beck, where's the rest?
You owe me 20 more pages.

I've been, honestly,
working every day, and grading papers...

If the schedule is too rigorous,
drop back to part-time.

But then I won't qualify to TA.

I need the cash. The housing.
I'd lose my place.

You'll figure it out.
You're smart, or you wouldn't be here.

- Please, Professor Leahy...
- Paul.

Paul. I'll get you the pages
by the end of the week.

I can't go to part-time, okay?

I'm rooting for you.

You just need to keep up.

Happy to discuss further.
After class some evening.

If we're gonna seriously discuss poetry,
it should be over a drink.

There's a little gastropub I love...

I would love that, Paul.

Just, uh, how would your wife feel
about you...

About me helping out an aspiring writer?
She's used to my generosity.

So, Thursday night, then?

Thursday night it is.

Excellent.

And don't worry about the next few days.
Just go home and get caught up.

Need to see you tonight.

Will if I can, babe.
Working late.

P.S., I can still smell you on my fingers.

I learned two definitive things
by scouring your computer.

First, there are no recent pictures
of your dad because he's dead.

He OD'd and you were the one
that found him.

You've started a few poems about that day,
but you never finished them.

I'm so sorry, Beck.

But none of this matters because of
my second and greatest discovery.

11:06 a.m., an hour after
our encounter at the bookstore,

amidst a group text on the merits
of vaginal detoxing, you wrote...

Wow. Just met a human male
who actually reads.

Alert the media.

What if it's finally time for me
to date someone good for me?

Thank you for letting me know

I wasn't crazy after all.

No!

Yes, I remember what you said
when you sent money last.

Yes, I'm grateful.

I'm working constantly.
There's no place cheaper to live.

I did.
He basically offered to sleep with me.

No, I can't report him.
That's not how it works.

I'm not worried.
I've seen enough romantic comedies

to know guys like me
are always getting in jams like this.

Not the school, the world.
That's not how the world works.

I know how much you helped me,
it's just... It's hard here, Mom.

Okay. I'll figure it out.

All right. Love you, too.

Bye, Mom.

It's okay, Beck.

Hi, Becks.

Hey, bitch, where you at? Come play!

I can't. I just had the worst day.

- What happened?
- Aw. Beckalicious, whatever it is,

there's nothing that we can't fix, okay?

Yes, us and copious amounts of alcohol.

Oh, my God. There's a sale!

- You guys love me?
- Of course.

- Why would you even say that?
- Okay, then.

Meet me in Greenpoint.

Look, why don't you come here?
Okay? Come here.

It's actually really fun
where we are.

- No.
- I promise.

Yeah.

There's something I need to do for myself.

I'll text you on my way.

See you soon.

- Bye!
- Bye!

Fuck!

I guess we're going
to Greenpoint, Beck.

I never go to Greenpoint.

But the things you do for love, right?

Hi. Um, okay, we're gonna get
a few more drinks.

Hold on, one second.

Guys?

What is she thinking?

Open mics are for models-slash-
singer-songwriters-slash-vegans.

These people don't want to hear

some wannabe read a poem
about the bleakness of life or whatever.

Your friends are disloyal.
And that Peach is the worst.

- Ooh.
- Another round of picklebacks.

Beckish, do we think now's the night?

Positive.

All of my life lately
has been about surviving.

I need to remind myself
why I came here in the first place.

- Yes.
- Yeah.

- You go. So good.
- Who do you keep texting?

I invited Benji.

- Beck...
- What? He likes poetry.

- For sure.
- And he texted he was coming?

He texted a row of smile emojis,
like, 45 minutes ago.

Some guys are assholes,
and you just have to realize that.

I get it, Peach.

You're the one who told me
to keep reminding you he's a bastard.

Up next, we have Guinevere Beck.

Whoo!

- All right.
- All right.

To vulnerability and shit!

Yeah.

- Cheers.
- Okay.

- Okay.
- Okay.

Kill it, Beck!

Hey, everyone. Um, I'm Beck, and I'm...

Not to sound like, you know,
whatever, but just...

I'm a poet.

Yeah, you are!

Whoo!

Yeah, you are!

"One day, you won't need love anymore

One day, you won't walk through the world

As though it was your job
To hold everything up

The sun, the hard part of the night

The secret time when you wake
To the sound of beating

Rise to answer the door
But he's not there

Because that sound is coming
From inside you

And you cannot answer it
No matter how far in you go"

Whoo!

"You loved him the way
Fragile kids love gorgeous bullies

You wrote songs about him. You..."

Uh, I mean...

"You wrote poems about him

You still write poems about him
You're writing one right now"

Why're you so sad?
You're just so sad.

Just something happier, for a change,
might be nice.

I think everyone agrees.
Get the singer back.

Sorry. I just...
I lost my place.

It'll just take a second
to find where I was.

I can't stand seeing this.
I'm sorry. I just can't.

It's obvious what you are.
You're blind with love.

And what you love, writing,
this city, your friends,

most of all, men like Benji,

what all those have in common
is they will never love you back.

While you give everything.

It's crazy the lengths we go.
We're a lot alike, Beck.

Last of the true romantics.

♪ Engine
Engine number nine ♪

♪ On the New York transit line... ♪

I was considering this
with my new friend,

Mr. Bat-Shit Homeless Guy,

when the second luckiest thing this week
happened.

Could it really be?

It feels like I'm dreaming.

I'm not.

Beck, you're too drunk to be alone.

What if some sicko
had followed you down here?

And you're too wasted
to be standing so close to the tracks.

Beck! Beck, stop texting that arrogant
club-soda, no-show dickhead.

♪ If my train jump off the track ♪

You want Benji.

You need Benji.
You hold that phone like it is Benji,

'cause it's your only means
to stay connected.

Forget Benji.

And to hell with that phone.

♪ Pick it up!
Pick it up! Pick it up... ♪

♪ Engine, engine number nine ♪

♪ On the New York transit line... ♪

Hey! Hey!

You okay? Are you all right?
Can you stand up?

Just stay still.

Half that shit down there
can electrocute you, all right,

so just give me your hand.

♪ Pick it up! Pick it up! ♪

♪ Pick it up! Pick it up... ♪

Sir, please, shut up!

Give me your hand.

Train's coming.

♪ Pick it up! Pick it up!
Pick it up! Pick it up! ♪

♪ Pick it up! Pick it up!
Pick it up! Pick it up! ♪

Your hand! Now!

♪ Pick it up! ♪

♪ Pick it up! ♪

Ugh.

- Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I am so sorry.
- Whoo.

No, it's fine. It's fine.

I, uh, hated... I hated this jacket. Ugh.

- I really am sorry.
- It's okay.

You mind?

Sure, um...

You know what? Let's get you in a cab.
All right?

I'm not always like this.

I figured you had some kind of night.

Some kind of.

Hey, I don't want to sound like a stalker,
but...

I think I know you.

Oh, the... Right.
Of course.

I remember. I'm sorry.

This is what I look like
when I'm sober and have my hair up.

Yeah. No, I... I remember.

It's okay, I have a pretty bland face.

No, you don't.

Yeah, uh, Desperate Characters.
I remember.

Yeah.

Where are you headed?

Village. You anywhere close?

Ride with me. It's the least I can do.

Okay.

Did you move here to be something?
I did. But it's not working out.

And I'm just running around
18 hours a day. Why?

Oh, God! Never mind. Sorry.

No, please. I feel the same way sometimes.

This guy I know, he owns the bookstore.

He once told me that all books
add up to one essential truth.

Which is,
if your IQ is above a certain number...

life is pretty much unbearable.
And the number is not even that high.

I do think
I'd be happier if I was stupider.

But then the world
wouldn't know your poetry.

How'd you know I write poetry?

Doesn't every young writer in New York?

I mean, I read a lot of poetry.

Who do you like?

Strand, Sexton, Merrill...

You're describing my nightstand.

Well, if you read them
to get to sleep every night,

then you definitely belong here.

- What was your last name again?
- Goldberg.

Where did you come from, Joe Goldberg?

I grew up here.

I left for a little while. Chasing a girl.

- But you came back?
- Yeah, I missed it.

And I'm not a good chaser.

Me neither.

Oh, this is, uh... This is me.

Mmm-hmm. It's not bad.

Thank you for sobering me up.

And for saving my life.

No, I didn't...
I didn't save your life.

Yeah, you did.

Oh, God.

Of course.

- Benji.
- Hi.

Um, this is Joe.
He literally saved my life tonight.

I... I fell on the tracks. It was crazy.

Babe, I told you
people are basically good.

It's a great job, bro.

"Bro." You waste of hair.

Okay. Beck, it's freezing out here.

- Wait. Maybe I can get your info...
- Yeah. Um...

Shit!

My phone!

- I must've dropped it in the subway.
- Oh.

Uh, okay, well.
Just maybe give me your number,

for when you get a replacement.

I'm basically enslaved to e-mail.

I get it. Smart. I'm practically
a stranger. Can't be too careful.

Okay.

It's BecklnRealLife@gmail.com

All right.

"Beck in real life."

Thank you.

Here's what I learned this week.

Sorry I didn't make it, you know?

You are special. You're talented.
You're passionate.

You're smart.

Except in the ways you are really not.
Like not locking your phone.

And falling for men like Benji.
You know better, but you can't stop.

Because, well,
because everyone needs someone.

What you really need
is someone to save you.

I can help, Beck.
Let me help you.

Joe.

Pac. Hey.

What's going on?
What're you doing out here?

It's Ron.

He came home drunk.

He started yelling.

Saying I thought I was smart,

reading my books
and looking at him like he's dumb.

What happened? Did he hurt you?

No, he didn't touch me.

I tried to stop him...

- I'm sorry.
- Paco.

Paco, it's okay. Really. It's okay.

You know what? Come with me.
We can fix this together. All right?

So, the first step to fixing something

is to know no matter how destroyed
it seems, it can always be saved.

Books are no exception. You got it?

Got it.

So what we have here is a lying press.
Basically just a huge clamp.

Polyvinyl-acetate glue,

means no acid to burn the pages.
Got your needle, thread,

and finally, right out of Bugs Bunny...

a trusty mallet.

You see this?

We don't need this.

Johno! Listen to this.

"Dear Benji, heard about your soda.

Am interested in including you
on my fall list of must-tries.

Would love to discuss.
Perhaps even try some? Jeff Pevensey."

That's the dude you're always retweeting?

It's the culture guy
from New York magazine.

Hit him back, bro.

No shit. Back off while I think.

Jeff, comma, so nice to hear
from you, bud, period.

Yeah, our sodas are legit, period.

I would love to meet up
to have you try the goods, period.

Let's set something up.

Scrape carefully along the spine.

Of course,
you've got to watch your fingers.

"Sounds great. I can call between meetings
to see if you're available."

This is gonna take us next level.

What time do you think we'll meet?

No offense, we discussed this.

It's best if the product has
one clear face at the beginning.

That's just more me.

Okay, the spine is sewn.

So you take this,
pull it as tight as you can, that way.

Yeah. That's it.

Jeff!

The glue is set. We've applied the binder.

Now...

you gotta be precise,
and use exactly the force needed.

Hey!

Hey, man. Jeff. Nice to meet you, man.

Nice to meet you, too.
Have you been here before?

It's a...
Not a lot of people know about it yet.

It's an incredible after-hours.
Very exclusive.

Yeah, I've been here a couple of times.

- Yeah?
- Hmm.

Oh. Well, good.

So you'll feel right at home, then.

Please, after you.

All right.

It's just down. To the left.

Hey, man, I'm thinking maybe...

It's 2:00 p.m. when the door chimes,
and I'm ready.

You told your girlfriends you'd come by.
I know this because I have your phone.

- I'll be back.
- Okay.

Hey.

Remember me? From almost dying
on the train tracks?

Uh, it rings a bell. Hang on. Hang on.

I wanted to say thank you.

No. You already did that.

Well, uh, thanks again.

And I'm sorry for, uh, running off
the other night.

- You had a guest.
- Hardly.

So, I got you a present.

No, please.
You don't have to get me anything.

Shut up and just look at it.

"Engine, engine number nine
On the New York transit line

If your girl falls on the track
Pick her up, pick her up, pick her up"

We already have in-jokes.

So...

anyway, that. And I better...

Maybe if you're not too busy,
we could get a drink sometime?

Sure.

Ugh. But I still can't find my phone.

I know. E-mail.

That's right.

See ya, Joe.

See you soon, Beck.

Well played, sir.

Well played.

I'm not always right. I'm human.
I make mistakes.

You'll see.

I have to check on a shipment downstairs.

- Can you watch the register?
- Yeah.

Hell, maybe
I'm just a fool in love...

but I'm right about you,

and I'm going to help you get
the life you deserve, Beck.

Please.

Whatever you think I did,
you got the wrong guy.

No.

I don't.

.srt Extracted, Synced and Corrected
by Dan4Jem, AD.XII.MMXVIII