I don't know what the hell I'm workin' for. Sometimes I sit in my apartment–all alone. And I think o

I don't know what the hell I'm workin' for. Sometimes I sit in my apartment–all alone. And I think of the rent I'm paying. And it's crazy. But then, it's what I always wanted. My own apartment, a car, and plenty of women. And still, goddammit, I'm lonely.
----Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman