She walks over to the counter and asks for a hot tea. The woman at the counter -- a similar slacker/hippie hybrid -- replies, "Wow. 'Tea.' We've got, like, eighty varieties: herbal, green, black, English, Irish, chai " Joan doesn't know and doesn't care to decide: "Just tea. Thanks." The barista gives her a big, knowing smile and says, "It's not up to me. You gotta make a choice." Joan panics and looks back toward Cosmic Dude, realizing he wasn't God after all. She winces, and then says, "I'm choosing to be here with my friend, okay? Luke is fine. He was alone all day. So just back down!" Barista gently offers a diagnosis: "I think you want the chamomile. It's very calming." Joan covers her mouth when she realizes she's 0 for 2 and apologizes. She tells her to forget it.
It's time for some poetry reading. Joan and Adam watch a guy with long grey dreads begin reciting his poem, called "Through the Third Eye." And it goes:
I close my eyes to this advertised reality
This Dow Jones international corporate double-tall latte
And I open my eye to what's really real.
I open my eye to light restored
The blessed light that cures the ailing mind
I'm talkin' the merciful assistance of sister to brother
At this point Joan interrupts, saying, "Okay, okay, I get it." The poet is puzzled. Adam whispers, "What are you doing?" Everyone stares as she continues, "I'm getting the fuse, I'm restoring the light, I'm helping out my stupid brother. Are you happy now?" Adam: "Jane." The poet is flummoxed. It dawns on Joan that the third's time not a charm as the hipster audience expresses its disapproval in the mildest possible terms, by shaking heads. She turns to Adam and says, "It's not you, I just -- I'll explain later." Adam doesn't know what to say as she takes off. The poet takes another stab at the poem, but quickly falters and says he's all messed up and can't even remember it now.