Joan enters a workshop or garage full of stuff where Adam's welding, and calls his name. He lifts up his mask, and Frink says, "No one looks good in those. Not even Jennifer Beals." He's pretty surprised to see that it's "Jane." He's working on some big piece made of chicken wire and other spiky metal stuff. She tells him she's brought him his bag. He says nothing, not even "thanks." He just kind stands there awkwardly. Joan approaches him and, referring to the art he's working on, says it's really beautiful. Adam's response: "Chah...fo' shizzle my nizzle." Uh, no. Just...no. He looks like he's not entirely sure himself that that comment was well-advised. Joan just smiles and lets it go. She asks what it is he's making. Adam doesn't know. He gestures toward his bag and thanks her. He reaches in, grabs some of the wire pieces, and says, "Thanks for bringing me all these...things. I really needed them to finish this...thing." Joan confesses that she was sort of paranoid about having his bag, and thought it might be full of "boo-yah schwag." Adam doesn't even know what she's talking about. Joan explains with a little snort, "Weed." Adam looks slightly indignant, almost hurt, and says softly, "I don't do that." Joan laughs dismissively, prompting Adam to insist, "I don't." She wonders what all that business was with Price in the vice-principal's office, and why Adam didn't put up more of a fight about being drug-tested. Basically, Adam lets Price think whatever he wants, so he doesn't keep digging for his own "personal mystery" to use against him: "As far as I'm concerned, as long he's digging up my 'drug problem,' then he won't find out my real secret." Joan: "Which is?" Adam: "Chah, look around you." Joan does. "I talk to angels." That makes Joan wide-eyed. Adam: "Relax, Jane, it's a metaphor." She wonders, "But...what if you actually could talk to angels?" Adam: "I'd keep my mouth shut." They agree that Mr. Price would have such a person put away. Adam gives her a small spiky sculpture.