Josh tells us that the next item of business was dancing at Ghost Bar, because he just loves kickin' it on the dance floor and blah blah blah he'd be the fruit salad. Right. So that joke's over, thank god. My friend Potes posited a lengthy and brilliant theory by which Trashelle would shimmy up to one of the guys and steal him away from Trista before ratings-enhancing catfights ensued. But at this early juncture, this show is still hellbent on its current Trista As The Only Woman On Earth trajectory, so it's business as usual at Ghost Bar as we learn from Russ, "I'm gonna go for it." I just never imagined that the series of actions "it" modified would be so damned prosecutable. Cut to a telling but ignored shot of Russ advancing on Trista in a period of juuuust-before- she-asked-what- was-that- pill-like- thing-dissolving- in-her-drink lucidity that shows her pushing him forcefully away and walking in the general direction of wherever he is not. Trista then succumbs to whatever alternate reality Russ's Vulcan mind power takes her to ("I dreamt that I wasn't in some way involved in a dating reality show. It was awful! And you were there! And you were there! And you were there!"), and we rejoin the two of them on the outdoor balcony of Ghost Bar. An interview finds Trista admitting, "Things are sparking. I feel like when I'm next to him, there's fireworks going off, compared to the other guys." It's a trick of the lighting, folks...she never says his name in the interview, so we don't actually have the vaguest clue as to who she's talking about here. But Russ makes his feelings abundantly, drunkenly clear out on that balcony, confiding loudly in Trista, "Things that you say, like, I. You could say a sentence and I could finish...Or could say whatever, and I just sit there, like..." Whatever. I'd point out that finishing other people's sentences with panache, you must first acquire the verbal capacity to finish one of your own, but to make such a base comment insults the reader and makes my four years of commitment to this site look like a sham. Everything Russ does devalues my existence in its sheer, Russ-drenched totality. But Trista totally gets where he's coming from. Or something: "That's why I keep telling you to shut up." Drunk talk. Sweet, beautiful drunk talk. And then, creepy kissing.