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I think: He doesn’t regret the life he led. Although Brewer isn’t like New York or Chicago, the kind of town where Sinatra belts it out. What he enjoyed most, in retrospect, and which he didn't know at the time, was standing around in the showroom. Behind the dusty big window with the banners, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep his leg muscles strong. Waiting for a customer, shooting the breeze with Charlie or whoever. Earning his paycheck, filling his slot in the big picture, doing his bit, and getting a little recognition. That's all we want from each other, recognition. Your assigned place in the rat race. In the Army too, you had it: your number, your bunk, your assigned duties, your place in line, your pass for Saturday night, four beers and a chance to fuck a whore in a ranch house. Honey, you didn't pay to be a two-timer. There's more to being a human being than having your own way. In fact, it has dawned on Rabbit this late in life that you didn't have a way apart from what other people tell you. Your mother first, and poor Pop, then the Lutheran minister, that tough old Fritz Krupenbach. You had to respect him though, as he said what he believed. And then all those schoolteachers, Marty Tothero and the rest, trying to give you an angle to work from. And now all these talk-show hosts. Your life derives, and has to give. Maybe if your mother was in the fast lane like Annabelle's, you are naturally leery of the opposite sex. We haven't set these kids terrific examples. And I'm screaming, crying, throwing up.
