Oh, to be young and immortal and living the kind of life where you're surrounded by attractive, fun-loving types whose apparent day job involves appearing in the kind of beer commercials that make the rest of us wonder if we're somehow missing the "transcendent joy" aspect of a good beer bong. Even Michael Stipe wants to be these people -- he's watching them walk out of a club and following them with a kind of manic intensity. At least, the guy looks like Michael Stipe -- bald, lean to the point of inspiring within total strangers the urge to force-feed him a pound of pasta, kind of focused on looking at something not visible to mortal human eyes.
The shiny, happy people all hold hands as they head down the sidewalk. They're also sloppy, happy drunks, something Michael's all in favor of, as it will make mugging them go much more smoothly. Unfortunately, just as he's about to make his move and begin robbery maneuvers, a police cruiser drives by and gives the siren a brief tap as if to signal to Michael that they're on to him. Michael instantly begin pretending he has places to go and people to not rob, and he winds around a corner, past some shrubbery and a trellis into a parking lot, briefly checks out cars for robbery potential, then spots a lone person rushing out of the parking lot, his posture and stride broadcasting nervousness. This is the kinesthetic equivalent of dumping a gallon of blood off Australia's Great Barrier Reef, and like any predator-cum-scavenger, Michael's now on full alert. He begins hobbling after the guy, calling, "Hey, mister! Hey! Get over here!" The man makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder and acknowledging Michael, then breaks into a run. Michael shouts, "Come here!" and begins chasing after him, gaining with every stride.
Then, in the next scene, Michael's lying sprawled on his stomach at the foot of some stairs in broad daylight. As Horatio crouches over him, Vin Ethanol comes down the stairs and gives us all the 411: "There's no witnesses. Nobody heard the trains running." Unsurprisingly, the closed captioning tells a different tale about a rookie cop trying to move the homeless along and discovering the body as he did so. Vin checks out Michael and pronounces, "Looks like a decade of skag and skin-popping." Horatio replies, "Yes, but it's not an OD. There's no foam around his mouth and nose. You see that? And look at that syringe." Vin Ethanol replies, "There's no blood in it." Horatio explains, "That's right. And that's because it's not a junkie syringe. A junkie syringe is one CC tops. This one is ten CCs. It's huge." Vin Ethanol advances the theory that Michael was a big believer in quantity. Horatio doesn't dismiss it out of hand, but he stands up to intone to the heavens, "Junkie or not, somebody killed this man."