Michael and Dr. Friedlander - First Therapy Session

[Chorus]
Dr. Friedlander: Your son, James. He's a good kid?
Michael: He's a good kid? A good kid? Why? Does he help the fuckin' poor? No. He sits on his ass all day, smoking dope and jerkin' off while he plays that fucking game. If that's our standard for goodness, then no wonder this country's screwed.

[Verse]
Dr. Friedlander: And what about you?
Michael: What about me?
(Dr. Friedlander motions his hands, wanting Michael to talk.)
Michael: Hey...
(Michael sits up straight.)
Michael: I didn't have the advantages that kid has. By the time I was his age, I'd already been in prison twice. I robbed banks. I ran whores, I smugglеd dope.
Dr. Friedlander: And you considеr them achievements?
Michael: These were the opportunities I had. At least I took 'em.
Dr. Friedlander: And where did these opportunities get you, Michael?
Michael: They got me right...
(Michael stands up and walks around the office, expressing his anger.)
Michael: ...fuckin' here! The end of the road! With a big house and a useless kid, and I'm stuck talking to you because no one else gives a shit! Oh, I'm living the dream, baby! And that dream is fucked, it is... fucking fucked!
Dr. Friedlander: Let it all out.
(Michael sits back down.)
Michael: I think I just did.
(Dr. Friedlander glances at his watch, noticing the time.)
Dr. Friedlander: Oh, well I, think that's all we have time for. Same time next week?
Michael: I guess...
(Michael stands back up and walks towards the door to leave Friedlander's office.)
Michael: I gotta tell you, I ain't too sure this shit is workin' for me.
Dr. Friedlander: Hm.
(Dr. Friedlander stands up from his chair.)
Dr. Friedlander: Well, a sense of overriding futility is a vital part of the process. Embrace it.
Michael: Whatever you say, Doc.

[Bridge]
(Michael walks out and closes the door behind him. This marks the transition to the game’s opening sequence, which consists of numerous establishing shots of Del Perro and the surrounding area. These include a bird’s-eye view of the Great Ocean Highway, the Los Santos skyline, the near-entirety of both Vespucci and Del Perro Beach, and a Jetmax speeding past the pier. In addition, we get a glimpse at several interactions between the inhabitants of Los Santos: a cyclist narrowly riding past two beachgoers; bodybuilders lifting weights and exercising; a retriever sprinting past a sunbathing woman; and finally, two joggers passing by Michael, who is merely strolling past the beach houses of Del Perro. He notices a police officer failing to capture the attention of a vagrant stumbling along the walkway. After watching the man with a look of empathy, Michael sits down on a bench.)
Michael: [quietly] I know just how you feel.