Lost

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Thanks, But I'm Not Hungry

Locke storms outside, slamming the door. Across the way, Kate watches, and asks Claire what that's all about. "Who knows? It's Locke," says Claire, who might seem a little more concerned about the temper tantrum thrown by the guy she's entrusted to protect her and her son. Then Sawyer strolls up all "Mornin', ladies" and "Coffee smells good," and every sentence he utters oozes "pickup artist just before last call." Claire smiles all "I'll just leave these two alone" and goes to get him some coffee. Don't go, Claire! The television is so much brighter when the walking Neutrogena ad is on screen.

Sawyer sits on the porch and remarks how weird it is to sit on the porch drinking coffee. Then he turns on the pressure with his "I found some clothes in your size" and "I hung them in the closet" and promises to boot Hurley out of the place so he and Kate can play house. "I'm not moving in with you, Sawyer." Sawyer can't fathom why she would bother staying in New Otherton if she's not planning to have sex with Sawyer all the time. I'm paraphrasing, but that's essentially it. He accuses her of having a secret agenda (because Sawyer is so aghast at the very notion of secret agendas, right?). If you're spying for Jack, he starts to say, but Kate says she's not. Of course, if she is spying for Jack, she'd totally say she wasn't, right? "So why don't you tell me..." "Because I don't trust you," she says. That shuts him up, temporarily. "This is about the pregnancy thing," he says. "James, go home," she says. Fine, says Sawyer, getting up and sauntering back over to his place. Kate watches him.

We flash (forward, I think it's safe to assume at this point) to Kate, made up all pretty (although I much prefer freckled, dirty outdoor Kate), looking apprehensive, sitting in a car next to some dude. "Is there a back entrance?" she says. There is, says her companion, but you're going in the front, with your head held high. Kate still seems worried, but she says, "Let's do this," and puts on sunglasses.

Outside the car is a phalanx of photographers and reporters, all shouting at Kate. Her companion, her lawyer, leads her through the throng, up the steps, telling everyone Kate won't be making any statements at this time. This doesn't exactly silence them. And it's not all reporters. Celebrity-watchers too, I imagine. And some heavyset bearded guy who yells something unintelligible. Perhaps he's printed out a list of continuity errors in the Lost saga and he wishes to discuss them in great detail with Kate.

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Lost

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