Carter re-enters with a young girl tarted up way beyond her years. She's clearly a pre-pubescent prostitute. ["Is John Wells going to poach an actor from each of HBO's original series? The Littlest Prostitute is a.k.a. Keith's nieceTaylor from Six Feet Under." -- Wing Chun] Druggie pipes up with another plea for sweet, sweet Demerol, because his other attempts have been a rousing success. "Name?" Carter asks. "Anonymous," says Anonymous. Carter makes a medic named Morales move his patient, who's waiting for a bed, so that poor little mowed-down Anonymous can recover from her accident. "I thought he was nice. He paid me extra," muses Anonymous. "Then he tried to run me over with his Mercedes." Erin gasps. "Mercedes? Can I have his number?" she pants. Or I suppose she might have asked whether Anonymous called the cops. "Yeah, I got them on speed-dial," Anonymous snarks. Plus, it's a really intelligent question considering that she got carted in directly from the scene, and probably doesn't have a cell phone unless Catherine Zeta-Jones popped by to hand her one: "Anonymous here has a broken leg, and unless she gets help, she'll miss a meeting with her pimp. Let's change all that." Erin excitedly notices that Anonymous is clenching her fist and holding her arm weirdly; she diagnoses it as "posturing," but really it's "acting," and it's happening because Anonymous is clutching a roll of bills. Erin snatches it. "I worked hard for that!" shrieks Anonymous. Carter promises that Erin will protect her hard-earned wad, so she can later go blow it someplace else. Carter presses on her abdomen until he finds tenderness in the lower quadrant; expectantly, he turns to Erin to supply the logical next step. "Ask if she sees a gynecologist," Erin guesses. Carter gives her a look that says, "She's right there, Albert Erin-stein." Erin turns to Anonymous. "Do you see a gynecologist?" she asks. "Yeah, every Sunday after Confession," Anonymous sasses.