When we say everybody, we do not mean the Humphreys. In fact, the only people on this show we do not mean, when we say everybody, is the Humphreys. Which is fine by me. Don't they have a Farmer's Market or protest to attend? Perhaps they should go buy some fabric and sew some clothes, instead of brunch. Brunch should be beautiful, elegant, and simple. Meanwhile, off in Williamsburg (or Park Slope, or the West Side, or wherever the hell they live this week), Dan is physically pulling up the garage door that serves to divide his room from Jenny's, in the palatial loft with which their poverty has somehow gifted them. I mean, it's kind of sad to be separated from your big brother's bedroom by a fake wall on a block and tackle, but on the other hand, their apartment is totally bad-ass. Anyway, Jenny tells him to stop asking her if she's okay about almost getting raped in a leisurely fashion on the roof last night, because she's pragmatic and has done with it. Not to mention, she's still got kind of a thing for Chuck. Which is yucky but I guess understandable. She admits that she's a huge dipshit for going anywhere with Chuck unarmed, and demonstrates this by snarking on Dan for showing affection and care in asking if she's okay. He tells her it's nice that she trusts people, but they agree that this doesn't include Chuck, because Chuck is not "people," because Chuck is not human. Jenny turns the convo from her PTSD to something way more interesting and important: the awkward ending of Dan's date with Serena, heretofore called The Wave. You know how sometimes you're watching a sitcom and the people get really intense and won't stop talking about something, some little catchphrase or something, and you're wondering why you're not laughing, and then you realize the premise is really flimsy and forced, and that's why? Catch The Wave.