Howard’s End, indeed. The title of Clara’s pick for, well, every major 1993 Oscar (it did win a couple, though Unforgiven snagged the big prize) could just as well headline the story of Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill come 2003. Howard Hamlin, Jimmy’s inherent adversary-turned-feeble insomniac, continues sharing too much, confiding in Jimmy that desks are empty around HHM because of what the consultants call “right-sizing.” He hasn’t slept in God knows how long, the thickness of his stubble is — as Jimmy cruelly observes — threatening to overshadow the fine hair atop his head, and a combination of the firm’s stained reputation and financial burdens triggered by Chuck’s death have left him a shell. “Get your shit together,” Jimmy admonishes, echoing his unsolicited dressing down of Mr. Niff.
We had a good thing you stupid son of a bitch! We had Fring. We had a lab. We had everything we needed, and it all ran like clockwork. You could've shut your mouth, cooked, and made as much money as you ever needed. It was perfect. But no, you just had to blow it up. You and your pride and your ego! You just had to be the man. If you'd done your job, known your place, we'd all be fine right now.
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