A cushy long commercial break ensues, the adequate length required for Tommy to heal completely from his wounds. Franco, from above, stares down the several floors and screams, "He's not movin'!" Oh, he's fine. And really, he is, as we cut to a tight shot on Tommy's face and discover he is, in fact, movin'. First his eyes. Then his head. Then all of him. Totally fine. He makes it to the kneeling position, just as...aw, heck, it's Jesus. He asks Tommy, "Do you believe in my father now, Tommy?" Hell no, but I sure as heck believe in those pills. Jesus -- looking a bit worse for the wear, I have to say -- tells Tommy to stand up and then does that totally pendantic Jesus lecture thing: "Faith, Tommy. You must have faith. Without it there's no hope. Without hope, you cannot live." All together now: aaaaaaaaaaaaa-meeeeeeeeeeeen! Anyway, the rest of the guys make it to the bottom floor. Franco observes that Tommy's being fine is "impossible," and Lou brushes some dust off him and demands, "Whatever the hell it is you're on, I want double the dose." Too late...Janet is already wondering why she only has half. Or she would be, if this subplot made any sense.
Sunday at church. Everyone sings psalms, Janet screeching her part out in a merry, grating soprano. Kid #1 stares on in horror. Foreshadowing Kid stands in the shadows, staring at Tommy accusingly. Or maybe he just wants Janet to pipe down already like the rest of the congregation does.
Firehouse. Lou talks to Franco: "She didn't like the line about 'my heart beats full for you, my tears like the rain pit-pat upon...'" Franco, in a word: "No." Apparently, Lou took a turn at his own poem, and it didn't so much work out, I'm guessing. Tommy walks in with even further unhinged words about how he wants to get some flower arrangements for the house, but he is quickly headed off by Franco, who explains that Laura loved Tommy's (well, "Franco's") poem so much that she asked for a second one. So Lou took a crack and, according to Lou, Laura "hated it." Franco clarifies that she just liked the first one better than the second, and that this sophomore slump necessitates that Franco deliver with a kick-ass third poem, by the end of this week if possible.