It's still raining out. Doug drives down the road in his tuxedo, sans tie, looking hot. He reaches forward to turn up his radio (some "classic" rock song I don't recognize and don't care to look up), and as he's settling back in the seat, his tire blows out. He makes a few inarticulate noises of irritation, and pulls over to the curb. His car, by the way, is a bright blue coupe of some kind that really communicates to me that Doug must have a really huge penis. Doug steps out of the car, holding his lab coat over his head as a makeshift umbrella, and walks around to check his front passenger-side tire; it's flat. He gets back into the car, whips off the lab coat, grunts with impotent rage, and punches the steering wheel a few times. Then he sighs, slightly calmer. He doesn't have a cell phone with which to call Triple A? Or to call Linda, who most assuredly has a cell phone? My mother had a cell phone in 1994, and she's not even a doctor. Whatever. He glances toward his lab coat on the passenger seat, reaches into the breast pocket, and pulls out the joint Jerry'd slipped him earlier. He studies it for a few seconds, considering. He sets it down on the flat surface beside his gearshift. He stares at it a few more seconds. Then, like a zombie, he pushes in the dashboard cigarette lighter. After a beat, it pops out; Doug matter-of-factly takes it and is in the process of blazing up the doobie when he's startled by the sound of knocking on the driver's-side window, accompanied by a kid's voice screaming for help. Doug spits the joint into the back seat and whirls around to roll down the window. The kid continues to scream. Doug asks why, and the kid says, "My brother needs help!" Doug, flustered, yells, "Why? Why? What are you saying?" "Hurry! He's going to drown!" the kid screams. Without rolling the window back up or even turning off the car, Doug springs out of the car and takes off running, following the kid into a park across the street.
In the park, the kid leads Doug into a rain-swollen pond, explaining that he and his brother were playing in the tunnel, and that his brother got stuck. As they get closer to the "tunnel" in question, we can see it's a big, above-ground storm drain, with water gushing out of it good and fast. There's a little ledge in front of the drain pipe (which looks to be about four feet or so in diameter); Doug climbs up on the ledge and pulls the kid up by the arm. We can't quite hear the trapped kid over the sound of the rushing water, but Doug (I gather) can, because he calls, "Hang on, I'm coming in!" He bends double to enter the drain, the kid behind him.