Jude alone, trying to hail a cab. It's not raining anymore. Under an Elijah Wood poster in a bus stop, a tramp asks her for some cash. She ignores him and keeps walking, having been truly screwed once again by the Steve Baxter in her life. "I've had nothing all day!" the tramp hectors. "Twenty pence won't kill you, will it? Go on!" Jude keeps walking, pulls her jacket tighter. "Piss off then, Judith." She stops, and there's a bone chuckle. I didn't know it would be scary! It's very scary! Shuffle just started playing Amy Grant in order to combat the scariness! She keeps walking, and a car pulls up alongside, driven by a middle-aged woman, who is lost. With a capital yikes. She's looking for a university building: "I should know it, been there hundreds of times." Her husband always used to drive: "My husband died six months ago. Bowel cancer. Six months and he was gone. Six months sleeping and screaming. Six months, blood and shit pouring out of him." Her eyes go very shiny, like silver. Like a reflection of silver. "Where was God then? Where was that idiot when he was screaming?" Judith reassesses the situation, and bends down to the window again. Even though this is clearly a horrible thing that is happening, and these people are possessed by the actual Devil, obviously. I think it's because Russell Davies is a poet and you want more of that crazy talk when they talk like that. "Ask your precious boyfriend, sweetheart. Get him into bed, get on top of him and sweat, then ask him." Crude! She zooms off. Jude is having like the worst night. Boyfriend dumps you off in Manchester and then the literal Devil starts being all vulgar and making people's eyes shiny. I call that kind of night "A date with Cruel Intentions and a bottle of red," and you don't answer your phone, or the door, because: literal Devil. Jude's still holding the map that the woman handed her, which I think she drops, and behind her, the tramp laughs, leans his head back, and chuckles horribly, like sand in the gears, and his eyes are shining silver.
Steve, alone, sticks his head out the skylight of his attic room. The attic room is where he does dorky things. And, I guess, God-related things now. He opens up a browser and searches for "the_second_coming." Underscores are the Boolean symbol for "computers are beyond me."
Next morning, Steve's on a hideous purple and pink mattress. How deeply depressing. I'd go nuts too. Actually, I've been sleeping on the couch since I moved into this apartment, and I'm like this close, so there you go. As if it wasn't depressing enough, there's a Doves poster on the wall. There's a Smiths poster on the trapdoor...Wait. Yep, the Doves are from Manchester. Got it. Steve checks his email, and it starts receiving. 157 emails. "Yes!" See, right there I lose the connection, because I get that many emails from whackjobs every single day, and here he is soliciting them.