It's dark out. Grace "Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)" Polk and Luke "I'm a Marionette" Girardi are sitting in a park, on some big gnarled tree roots. They're playing music for each other. Luke's playing some hiphop for her -- I can't make out the song -- and she's shaking her head: "No, no, no. Hiphop is supposed to be about defiance and social justice. This mainstream trash has totally sold out to the corporate rats." Luke: "Yeah, but the chorus has this addictive bass that's like --" Grace: "Next." Luke: "You're very intolerant." Grace counters, "High musical standards does not make me intolerant, dude." I feel someone poking me in my right upper arm but we're just going to ignore him. Luke suggests delving into some classical selections. Grace wonders if he's trying to kill her: "Why don't we just start speaking in Latin?" Hey, be my guest. Sars and I can handle it. Luke decides it's time to listen to her music. Grace: "Okay, okay. Chill with the caveman act." She puts on 33 West: "Indie group. Totally downloadable. The people's music." Luke: "Sophomoric lyrics. Stultifying melody. They sound like they recorded it over a telephone. They deserve their obscurity." Hee. At least he's not pretending to like stuff to appease her, like how some girl who hates sports might have pretended to be interested in football just because some high school boyfriend liked it. Er, not that I know any girls like that. Grace is miffed and moves on to the next song: "Olatunji. African drums." Luke's comment: "Pretentious attempt to co-opt another culture to hide your middle-class roots." Wow, is he ever skating on thin ice. Grace: "You are going to be bleeding soon." But she doesn't say it with her usual conviction. He comes back with: "Feel the power of Metallica: Master of Puppets. The anthem of thrash metal." Grace says they sound like a band with no hands. Luke claims, "You know what? I have a deep, psychic connection with Metallica, so tread lightly." Really? They just don't seem his cup of tea, really. I think Luke should look into some avant-garde stuff -- John Cage, Iannis Xenakis, that sort of thing. I think the math in it would blow his mind. Grace, discouraged, says, "Look, dude, we tried. But music is vibrations, and my music is a representation of my inner vibrations." Luke: "And if we don't share a common rate of vibration, what do we have?" Nearby some people walk through the park with a boombox, playing Kool and the Gang's "Celebration." At the same time, they both comment, "At least you didn't bring that." Luke has a brainstorm. He leans toward Grace: "A shared experience in dissonance creates its own harmony." Grace: "What?" Luke geeks on: "Harmonic resonance. It's one of the basic laws of physics. Our mutual hatred for Kool and the Gang has formed a harmonic union between us." Grace smiles, all too willing to salvage things: "I think I feel it." Luke: "Grace…this is our song." They kiss.
As Will flosses his teeth before bed, he tells Helen about the drive-by shooting, and how there must be a witness. Helen says they're probably terrified. Will: "So, they'll just let it happen again?" Helen: "You really think it's that simple, making the right moral choice in a world filled with violence and intimidation?" That was a bit clunky. Will wonders if it's from one of her books; she says it is: "Sorry. It's Graham Greene again. He writes about God in a world of moral relativism." Will gets on the bed, commenting, "'Interesting,' he said begrudgingly." Looking at the pile on the bed, he remarks that she has a lot of books. Helen: "Lot of questions." He picks something up: "Hey…you got the Itty-Bitty Light." Helen: "Because I'm a wonderful woman, even though I believe in God." She kisses him, and then Will looks pensive. Helen: "What? I got the Itty-Bitty Light." Frink: "That's two plugs." Me: "Actually, it's three." Will: "We thought we were on top of things, but look at us: Kevin's lawsuit, Joan's a new person every day…I feel like the people on that block. I can see everything happening, but I can't seem to do anything about it." Helen's philosophical: "Joan's a teenager. We're supposed to be powerless." He picks up a book and says, "Hey! There's dirty stuff in here." It's Fear of Flying. Helen smirks: "Moral issues." Will: "This is bait." Helen hopes so. She leans over to kiss him. Will: "'Will grapples with his moral quandary…what to do next? Mmm, what to do?'" He and Helen get comfortable. Are people allowed to grapple with their moral quandaries on CBS at 8:00?