Before they can get too deep into speculation, however, a fight breaks out in the common area, and everyone rushes over to watch. It's a couple of red-shirt extras doing the fighting, so you know we're not supposed to care about the actual fight itself. Instead, we notice Said noticing that Redding hasn't even left his pod, and appears to be taking no interest in the free show going on just outside. Heh. Only in Oz would not cheering for potential bloodshed be considered a symptom of depression. Said must have some Camden blood in him, because he seems genetically incapable of not sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong. He stomps into Crackhead Cosby's pod, and proceeds to deliver one of his now patented accusatory monologues. Said: "[Grumble. Grumble. Glower. Glare.]" Redding: "[Slur. Slur. Slush. Slur.]" Said: "[Glower. Glare.]" A suitably chastened Redding pulls on a loudly-colored sweater vest and shuffles off to take a lap through McManus's meditative maze.
And now comes Jefferson Keane's first real chance at handling his new narrator duties. The non-hip, non-squiggly font of introduction reminds us that he was executed by lethal injection a few seasons back, while Keane himself promises to explain "what happens after death. The afterlife." Yeah, yeah. We know. It's an electric word, it means forever, and that's a mighty long time. Blah blah blah. He also babbles about ancient Greeks and the river Styx and that time he bagged Madonna on the set of the "Like a Prayer" video. I'm just kidding about that last part. He does, however, assert that the Greeks understood that just dealing with the sheer trauma of everyday life was enough to earn a man eternal peace in the afterlife.
And speaking of "sheer trauma," here comes Officer Claire, strolling through solitary and announcing that all the inmates are up for review to return to the general population. She opens their peep holes one at a time, revealing Omar White, Schillinger, Penders, Alvarez, some random guy I don't remember, and finally Oz's still-reigning King Of The Body Fluids, Mr. Martinez. Damn. Is there anyone left in this prison who hasn't slept with Madonna? Where's Rick Fox when you really need him? Claire enters his cell, and the predictable sexual hijinx ensue, complete with Claire's statement that she felt like having "some Mexican food" and a number of wholly gratuitous grunts and moans on the soundtrack as the other prisoners listen in. Heh. I love Officer Claire. She's like the anti-Lauren, if such a thing is possible. In fact, if the day ever comes that I stoop so low as to write fan-fic, I can guarantee you it'll be a Schillinger/Claire story. You could do entire chapters with just the two of them arguing over who gets to be on top. ["Oh, gross. Convene the parole board. You're out of here." -- Sars]