Beyond a fence enclosing a playground full of laughing children, Kevin sits in his wheelchair, smoking and watching them. Joan walks up and asks, "When did you start smoking?" Kevin: "Don't knock it -- it's the only exercise I get. Besides, it makes me look cool." Joan: "Yeah. Chicks really dig a perv smoking and staring at the kids in the yard." Kevin tosses his cigarette down on the ground and taps Joan's elbow, saying, "Stamp that out, will you? I'm not a good stamper." Hee. She does, and then she sits on the ground and leans against the fence. She says their mother thinks he's out looking for a job: "FYI: that's pitiful." Kevin: "Yeah, well, these days, Pityville is my home town." Joan asks why he doesn't just let "the parental units" buy him a car. Kevin laughs: "I suppose you'd let them buy you a car." Joan replies, "Duh...any normal person would." Kevin just lets that hang there, and Joan feels bad immediately, of course. She apologizes and says she didn't mean it. Kevin says, "No, I remember 'normal.' Back when I was normal, I wanted them to buy me a car. And you know what they said? They said, 'No.' They said, 'Be a man. Get a job. Buy your own car.' So what's changed since then?" Joan's started crying a little bit. Kevin pushes: "Joan, what's changed?" She says gently, "You know what's changed." Kevin nods: "Nobody expects me to be a man anymore." He wheels his chair around sharply and takes off. Joan hollers after him through her tears: "You've stopped trying! You just sit around and smoke in the park like some sub-defective!" Yikes. Can't tell if Kevin was close enough to hear that, because he is really motoring.

Suddenly a bright blue ball comes at Joan from outside the playground, and she's coordinated enough to catch it. Me? It would have hit me in the face. She starts crying harder. Behind her, a geeky-looking little girl wearing some kind of goggle-eyed headband asks why she's crying. Joan says, without turning around, that she had a fight with her brother. The little girl, who's wearing a striped sweater over a plaid jumper ["bad combo, but the sweater itself I covet" -- Sars], asks, "Because he doesn't try hard enough?" Joan blinks back some tears and says, "You heard that, yeah?" Little Girl: "I hear everything, Joan." Professor Frink: "With antennae like that, I should think so." Now Joan turns and gazes at the serious face of the little girl. She pleads, "Let Kevin walk...please. I'll just ask for this one favour and then I'll never ask for one again. It's so easy for you! All you have to do is snap your fingers or blink your eyes..." She sobs. My heart breaks. "Just let Kevin stand up and walk." I'm all snurfly. Little Girl God says people ask her to do little things and big things billions of times a day. Joan shrugs, "What do you expect? You're God!" Little Girl God explains, "I put a lot of thought into the universe. I came up with the rules. It sets a bad example if I break them. Not to mention, it shows favouritism. Why should one person get a miracle, and not everybody else?" Well, why can't everyone have them? Is there a limited supply? Are they a Blue Light Special? Are there no rain checks, even? Little Girl God continues, "Can you imagine the confusion?" Frankly, I can't imagine that it'd be any worse than the current state of affairs. She concludes, "It's better when we all abide by the rules." She'd make a good TWoP moderator. Joan asks sadly, "No miracles?" LGG: "Miracles happen within the rules. That's why I came to you." Joan: "To...to perform miracles." Little Girl God says she's an instrument of God, "bound by the limit of time and space. Perfect." She lets that sink into Joan and then asks if she can have her ball back. Joan tosses it over the fence to her. Little Girl God asks with a goofy smile, "You'd like to give me a slap, wouldn't you?" Joan admits it: "Yeah...but you're so cute." Little Girl God says, "By the way, as an instrument of me, have some pride. Do better. Do your best." She walks off. Joan calls out, "Now I'd like to slap you!" Little Girl God just waves dismissively without looking back.