St. Peter: So your name’s Dante, is it?
Dante: Yeah, that’s right.
St. Peter: That’ll be ten thousand lire for the night.
Dante: Ten thousand?
St. Peter: He, Look. God runs a clean hotel. You don’t have cherubim leanin’ out the windows, you don’t have roaches crawlin’ on the walls.
Dante: All right.
St. Peter: A good time is what you get. Hey!
Dante: Hm?
St. Peter: We have this dame here, Beatrice. Why don’t you give this one a shot? Blue eyes, yellow hair—you poets like them, eh?
Dante: Beatrice…
St. Peter: Room 777.
Dante: That’s on the Seventh Floor?
St. Peter: Just ask for Rolf. Madame?! — a customer is waiting.
Madame: Hello.