Every Man For Himself

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No Man Is an Island

If Paulo wants his five-iron back, he'll find it atop a tall Tinkertoy structure that Desmond's built. It's the spire on a tower, and Desmond's running some wire from it down to a stick that he plants in the ground. He stands up and looks at his creation, satisfied. He strolls over to a table where Hurley is chopping up some fruit, and then just sits up on the table, and how nice of him to plant his ass where food is being prepared. Hurley looks at Desmond's tower. "Is that art?" asks Hurley tentatively. Desmond calls it an experiment, not taking his eyes off it. Hurley asks if Desmond wants some fruit salad, but he says he's not hungry. Hugo still seems a little freaked out by Desmond the psycho psychic and starts to leave, carrying his fruit salad in some kind of cone thing, but Desmond says Hurley might want to wait a moment. Hurley asks why, but Desmond doesn't answer: the thunder does, and a moment later, the rain, that suddenly starts lashing the camp. In Claire's shelter, Aaron starts crying, and she tries to soothe him. Charlie comes over to help. I guess it's too bad that Sawyer's not around to read car magazines to him.

Suddenly, lightning strikes the five-iron tower, and the wire carries the current harmlessly to Desmond's grounding stick, which catches fire. Claire's freaked out for all of about half a second. Charlie, though, looks at Desmond's freaky smile and thinks for a moment, possibly about whether he and Claire are ever going to be more than just friends. So I guess this is more of the "is Desmond psychic?" nonsense that is going to pay off soon, I'm sure, like the monster, and bird that called Hurley's name, and the four-toed statue, and everything else. Maybe we could just investigate why the lightning struck the golf-club tower when there are so many taller trees all over the place?

It's dark in the bear cages, but the birds are chirping. Sawyer wakes up, startled to see Ben there in his cage with him. "Good morning," says Ben. "Let's go for a walk." I suppose a morning jog's out of the question.

Flashback to Sawyer taking another walk, this one with an escort of prison guards to the prison gym, where the warden stands waiting outside the boxing ring. "I have to be honest, Ford. When they first brought you here, I thought you were nothing more than a dumb hick. Now I know better." He does? "You're a dumb hick that knows how to steal." Oh, okay. I'll accept that. Sawyer wants to get this over with, whatever this is. The warden acknowledges one of the men with him. "You remember Agent Friedmann from the treasury department," he says. Friedmann nods. He looks like he'd make a good rookie officer in a buddy-cop movie, the kind who's by-the-book but gets paired up with the loose cannon veteran. And each thinks the other's methods stink but by the end they're working together and respecting each other? Look at me, I just wrote a movie. I bet Samuel L. Jackson's available for the lead.

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