Murphy: Power's out. These game tokens look ancient. Free tram ticket. So where the hell's the machine? This must be the ticket machine. Another road to nowhere. Looks like it opens from the other side. Well, look at that. An old '52. Flathead V8, no doubt about it.
Howard: Wicket old beast, ain't she?
Howard: I said she's a wicked old beast. Me, I'm partial to something with a little less rust, but to each his own.
Murphy: Look, I don't want any trouble. Just point the way out of town and I'll keep right on going.
Howard: Now who said anything about trouble? Just trying to be helpful, son. Name's Howard, by the way.
Howard: Heading to the prison, are you, Murphy?
Murphy: Just looking for a way out of town, that's all.
Howard: That so? Afraid all the roads are out, every last one of them. Strangest thing.
Murphy: What the?
Howard: Something wrong, son?
Murphy: Did you see it? Up there in the window. Never mind.
Howard: I suppose if you're really desperate you could try the old sky tram. Of course it hasn't really been kept up since the accident.
Murphy: I'll take my chances.
Howard: That's the spirit. Well, this mail ain't going to deliver itself. Good luck, Murphy. Hope you find whatever it is you're looking for.
Murphy: Hey, what's the name of this place?
Man: You can't undo anything you've already done, but you can face up to it.
Murphy: Man, I must have hit my head pretty damn hard in the crash. Hello? Anyone here? What's that? Gas? Oh, shit! Fire. Anyone hear me? Fire!