Frustrated loner Travis Bickle, taxi driver, has flipped. In front of the mirror in his squalid room he practices drawing one of the guns he has strapped to his arm under his army jacket. He is muttering to himself and addressing an invisible adversary...
Yeah. Huh? (He pulls the gun.) Hu? Huh? Faster’n you. Go fuck yourself. (Puts the gun away.) I saw you comin’ you fuck, shitheel. I’m standin’ here. You make the move. You make the move. It’s your move. (Pulls the gun.) Huh. Try it you… (Puts the gun away.) You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?... Well who the hell else are you talkin’… You talkin’ to me? Well I’m the only one here… Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Oh yeah? Huh? Okay. (Pulls the gun) Huh? (Voiceover begins.) Listen you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore, a man who stood up against the scum… the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is someone who stood up. Here is… (Pulls the gun.) You’re dead.