And now...it's the return of plotlines that only deserve a paragraph. Displaying the same talents for misreading a situation and getting in over his head that led Sucre into prison in the first place, Michael's hetero life partner is now the new drug mule into Sona, courtesy of Lechero's cousin Augusto. Sucre's getting $5000 per trip (he hides the stash in a crate of food), but given that Lechero and Augusto are already at loggerheads, and that Sucre's tight with Michael, I can't imagine this is going to end well. Sucre, however, is thrilled -- he remembers his five-times tables and so can actually keep track of how much dirty money is piling up.
Back in Sona, Tyge is making his morning toilette at the water spigot which Michael so recently unclogged. Bellick comes on over. I am temporarily distracted by the fact that Bellick's wearing the same tight t-shirt and doesn't appear to be in pain. Wouldn't that rag be sticking to the second- and third-degree burns he got courtesy of Lechero's coffee klatch? Am I the only one who remembers that happening? Anyway, Bellick warns Tyge off the faucet, noting that polluting the drinking water will not make him popular and adding, "In Sona, it's every man for himself. Here. Cheese." First of all, that cheese looks disgusting. Second of all: Tyge looks like he hasn't actually ingested any lipid molecules in a decade; why would he start now? Tyge asks, "I saw the other Americans. So none of you call the embassy, eh?" Bellick sidesteps the real answer with, "Us gringos ain't all butt-buddies." In the background, Michael is fiddling with two watches. He notices Tyge watching him. By the way, Tyge just took the cheese.
Michael whisks back into his cell, stands right in front of the Christ figure with the "Adios" legend (so subtle!), and tosses up a sheet for privacy so he and Whistler can scheme over how to best survey the guards. When Whistler points out that he'll need a lookout during his guard-watching, Michael tells him to use Mahone. "I thought we were stringing him along," Whistler says. "Well, we're out of string," Michael replies. I'm guessing a smack-addled Mahone cut it short, eh, Michael? Scofield hands over half of the binoculars and the men are off and peeping.
Up in Lechero's suite, T-Bag is counting out his money and drug bundles in clear sight of everyone else. He is also dressed in a fresh pink shirt and sporting a slick, dark pompadour. You have to give the man credit for dressing his part. Anyway, Lechero drawls that T-Bag's in danger of becoming all work and no play, and T-Bag replies, "My clientele keeps a tight schedule. I've got to make sure I see to their needs." As T-Bag heads over, Lechero reminds him that his primary job is to be Lechero's snitch. T-Bag nervously stammers that he hasn't heard jack, and Lechero tells him, "Listen harder."