Over in the house of birds and dementia, Bill is placing a phone call to his old precinct. Or rather, he's placing a second call. Why, you and the person on the other end of the line ask? "I got tired of being held on hold," Bill says testily. "Good thing I'm not being robbed here." The reason for Bill's call, then, is because he's "looking into a nutjob" -- that'd be John, incidentally -- to find out if he's wanted or missing; Bill even has John's prints handy for when he arrives at the station. So why is he calling ahead, the unheard voice on the other end of the line apparently inquires? "Well, Anderson, that's to avoid standing there like a mope with my hat in my hand some place I worked 16 years while my request is walked through channels," Bill says, the irritation building with each syllable. About this time, you're probably wondering how Bill got John's prints -- Anderson sure is. That'd be from the handle of the police station water fountain that John drank from yesterday -- Bill took the liberty of removing it and taking it home. Hope none of you Imperial Beach peace officers are feeling parched this morning. Anyhow, Anderson is upset about Bill taking the water fountain handle, and Bill is upset about the out-of-date fliers on the station's bulletin board, and soon their conversation ends in a torrent of profanities and the slamming of phones. Shocking language for a Milch-written program I know.
In Room F at the Snug Harbor Motel -- "Come for the surfing; stay for the vermin-ridden accommodations" -- Butchie awakens from his filth-ridden slumber to find a shirtless, grinning John staring at him. Aw, their first sleep-over. "How did you sleep?" Butchie asks. "How did you sleep?" John repeats. Oh God, this again. Seriously, what I wouldn't give for the scene to transpire thusly:
Butchie: You know, John, it's getting a little tedious having you repeat everything I say.
John: It is? Boy, I'm sorry. I thought it made me endearing.
Butchie: At first, it did a little. But now I kind of want to punch you.
John: Well, that tears it then. From now on, I'm only speaking in declarative sentences that will advance the plot.
Butchie: Great! So that means this show will finally get somewhere.
John: Well, not exactly. Milch still has some point about the oneness of the universe that we'll need to beat into the ground first.
Butchie: Oh. Boy, I could really use some heroin.
John: Right there with you, bro.