Sayid, Jack, and Shannon are going over Rousseau's maps ("the Frenchwoman," Sayid helpfully reminds us) in the continuing saga of Sayid's attempts to figure out where they are and how to get off, which are Gilligan's Island-esque in their futility. He sums up what they know so far, which isn't much, and "the fish song" is mentioned by Shannon (with Jack all, "who in the what now?" but nobody explains it to him), and it all leads up to Sayid saying that the maps aren't of the island, but of a location on the island. But since the maps aren't drawn to scale, Sayid has no way of knowing how far away they are from that location (or, he admits to Jack, that the location is actually on Craphole Island). Mercutio strolls by, and my digital cable froze up for a second, and when it got going again, Mercutio is bitching at the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew there that they can't keep doing this -- "building water filtration systems, playing golf, building a sweet little home here. We need to get off this island." Shannon snottily asks if he thinks any of them actually want to be here, and Mercutio makes the ridiculous statement that nobody wants to get off the island as much as he does right now. Jack wants to know what he proposes, and Mercutio suggests building a raft. He also pleads for optimism when Sayid skeptically says, "A raft?" "Those seats we took off the fuselage, they float. And we got an axe, and a whole bunch of trees, bamboo," he says. Sayid shoots that plan down due to its negligible hopes for success, and Shannon shoots it down because of her seasickness. That sounds about right. Sayid's probably pissed he didn't think of it. I mean, he's right that there's not a great chance of successfully getting home on a raft, but it can't really hurt anyone to try building one. Mercutio's all, screw you guys, I'm going to go build a raft with my boy, 'cause we're getting out of here. Cheers, it's been real. And he stomps on off.
Walt's reading a comic book that's about the Flash, but it's in Spanish. El Flasho! And there's a giant polar bear on one page, and Walt tries sounding the words out. I'm not really following him, but I am able to deduce that "un oso polar" is Spanish for polar bear. Mercutio comes by and says he needs Walt's help doing something. Walt says he's busy doing stuff, and I have to say that "I'm reading comic books" has never excused a kid from helping his father with anything ever. Mercutio points out that Walt's reading comic books in Spanish, even though he doesn't speak the language. "I like the pictures," says Walt, which makes Mercutio smile, and he says that when he was Walt's age, maybe a little older, he used to trace comic books to teach himself perspective. Lucky Mercutio! I just had Mr. Schroeder, my cantankerous German seventh-grade art teacher, yelling at me every day, such that you learned technique basically just to keep Mr. Schroeder from screaming at you. I mean, my god, we were twelve. Of course, looking back on it, he taught us tons about the subject, especially considering our age. Naturally, I've long since forgotten all of it, except for the perspective bit, mainly because I drew this downtown city block being absolutely destroyed by bomber planes, stretching all the way to the horizon, that gave new meaning to the phrase "wicked awesome."