Shoddily Constructed Paramount Backlot Street That Is So Totally Not In San Francisco, Especially With Those East-Coast-Style Row Homes In The Background, Like, When Did This Show Transfer To Baltimore? "It's not so bad, if you like grey," Phoebe dizzes as the Glamorous Ladies pick their way down the sidewalk. "I don't understand how everything changed so much," Piper gasps. Neither do I, considering how Godiva's ride NEVER REALLY HAPPENED IN THE FIRST PLACE. The gals muddle through their latest dilemma as a family of eight marches past them in single-file, led by the father, with all of the women and girls obediently trailing behind in headscarves. Piper panics briefly about the disposition of the Psycho and Tiny Gay Chris, but Phoebe reasons that, as boys in this really, really shitty rip-off of A Handmaid's Tale, they'll be treated "like royalty." "Hey," Phoebe adds, almost as an afterthought, "why didn't we change?" "Probably because we were at [Not!warts] and protected?" Raige guesses, and I'll go with that, because it makes as much sense as the Lathe-Of-Heaven, there-at-the-moment- of-alteration explanation I already fankwanked in my head. Which is to say, not too much goddamned sense at all. Piper suddenly realizes they're the object of some very unwanted scrutiny by clusters of random passersby, including a clump of sternly disapproving gentlemen who look like they each have an M.B.A. in business, and a group of children being herded around by a meek- and mortified-looking nanny. I think. I actually don't know who any of these people are, nor do I care, because all that matters is that the Glamorous Ladies are attracting too much attention. Raige suggests that they head back to the non-existent attic for a little Book abuse, but selfish, stupid Phoebe refuses to return to the Manor, since the many, many spawn of Sparklies are likely to be running around underfoot. I don't really know where to begin, but I'll start here: if you orb into the attic, no one's going to see you, bitch. Also, where the hell is this Phoebe-married-to-Sparklies bullshit coming from anyway? They just met last week. If she were married to anyone in this altered reality where women are chattel, it would likely be to some loser from high school, not some boyband fucktard from the other side of the goddamned country. Piper -- ignoring my frustration and confusion, as is often her wont -- tosses her hands in the air in mock surrender before noticing a nearby sign that reads, "WOMEN who TALK in PUBLIC will be FLOGGED." "So much for your breastfeeding campaign," she snarks as a Nazi-esque Cop Without A SAG Card trots over on horseback to arrest them.