Downstairs, Joan's in her pink pyjamas, making a sandwich so huge and elaborate you might need to be over nineteen to eat it legally. She's suddenly turned into Dagwood Bumstead. She's just tried to take the first bite when someone knocks at the door. Putting the sandwich down, she starts to crutch her way to the door, but quickly dumps the crutches, realizing she can hop faster. She opens the door without looking to see who it is -- I'm sorry, but who lives in a world like that? -- and it's Adam. She doesn't seem to be expecting him, and she tells him it's late. Adam: "It is?" She tells him to come in, and hops back to the kitchen. She asks if he's cold, and if he wants something to eat. Frink: "Of course he does. He's a guy, isn't he?" She sits down and puts her bad foot up on the table. He stands before her, saying he wants to talk. As Joan rubs her ankle, he asks if it hurts. She says it doesn't hurt so much anymore: "You get used to it." I know they're talking about the foot, but it feels like they're talking about Iris just as much. He asks if she knew about Angela's mother. Joan says she didn't. Adam says he didn't, either: "We're both behind this whole thing..." Joan: "No. Friedman was." Does that guy have a first name? I'm just wondering. Adam gives her a soft yet reproachful look: "Jane...we were." Joan finally acknowledges this and says, "We'll apologize. I mean, that's enough, right?" Adam doesn't know.

He wanders around the kitchen a bit and notices the sandwich: "Wow. This is the most awesome sandwich I have ever seen." Frink: "That sandwich does rock." Joan smiles: "Have it. I'm bored with it already. Too much chewing." Adam sits down with the sandwich, and then says, "I'm not hungry." Joan can't get worked up about it one way or another.