Abby staggers toward her apartment building and tries to let herself in, but the door sticks from the cold. Fortunately for her, Joyce is loitering in the lobby and opens it from the inside. "I'm guessing it's going to stay cold for a while," she says. "I warned [Matthew] that January wasn't the best time to move, but that's when his semester starts. He's in law school." From what I understand, Virginia winters aren't a picnic either. It's not like they should be unfamiliar with seasons. Abby asks if Joyce is locked out. "Fight," Joyce smiles ruefully. She went to the store and picked up some beer to pass the time, figuring that he'll be asleep in half an hour. She and Abby make small talk -- Abby's from Minnesota, Joyce is from Idaho, "the potato part, not the white-supremacist part." Wow, someone's been aching to shit on Idaho. Unless, as punch lines go, Idaho is this year's Kentucky. Joyce offers Abby a beer. "You look like you've had a long day," she says. Abby seems grateful for this, the only modicum of sympathy she's received all day. She screeches her wagon to a halt, parks in front of a hydrant, and accepts the beer, sitting on a step and taking a very nervous sip. Joyce catches sight of a birthday card in Abby's mail pile and toasts that she made it through another year. Abby laughs wryly and clinks bottlenecks with Joyce as AAA arrives and tows away her illegally parked wagon.