John From Cincinnati
His Visit: Day Eight

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Mr. Sobell: B+ | Grade It Now!
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Shaun Gone! Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!

The montage having reached its conclusion, we join Dr. Smith and Cunningham confronting their demons inside the Snug Harbor's bar already in progress. Dr. Smith is standing at a billiards table, casually rolling the cue ball back and forth; Cunningham is standing nearby, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes fixed downward. Dr Smith explains that when he and Barry crossed paths just now, he was on his way back from the clinic he leased across the street. "I had gotten scared there. In an examining room," Dr. Smith continues. "I'd been imagining days to come, the people I'd be caring for, their gratitude for a physician of my credentials choosing to work with the poor and underserved." Cunningham's face is streaked with tears; this may or may not be related to the fact that the decaying corpse of Mr. Rollins is still sitting in the bar staring at him. But Dr. Smith doesn't seem to notice this: "The day before, standing in that room," he continues, "I'd felt that I had heard those patients' voices thanking me. And not hearing them today, I saw that the room was ramshackle and dirty." He takes Cunningham's hand, which causes Cunningham to stop staring in the ghost's direction. "Not hearing the hallelujah soundtrack frightened me," Dr. Smith says to Barry. "Made me run." He smiles: "I'd better get that place opened up." Cunningham's face begins to brighten. Over at the bar, Shaun -- yes, he's still in the bar, too -- turns to Cunningham and gives him the hang loose sign. "Shall we go?" Dr. Smith asks Cunningham, who nods. Garret Dilahunt, ladies and gentlemen -- the heart and soul of John From Cincinnati.

Ramon, dressed nicer than we've seen him to date, is walking back to the Snug Harbor when he passes the house of that rose-bush-trimming lady who gave Dr. Smith the Avon catalog way back when. Ramon and the lady begin talking -- "(both speaking Spanish)" my closed-captioning helpfully offers. "No shit," I say aloud. I suppose I could make up what they're saying ("So… do you think we're going to get renewed for a second season?" "Hey, if Mind of the Married Man can run for two goddamn seasons, why not us?"), but instead, I'll just copy and paste this transcript provided by forum member Lucille, while my high-school Spanish teacher silently weeps over how little knowledge I retained:

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John From Cincinnati

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