In a counselor's office, Vanessa nervously details the complex cocktail of drugs she's self-medicating with -- six different ones total, several of which she takes to counteract the effects of the others and one that she's basically using as a diet pill. And that's not even counting the Xanax from last week, which she doesn't mention (probably because a benzodiazepine is not the kind of drug you want to get caught taking off the books). The counselor wants to know who prescribed this mélange; Vanessa lies that her doctor did, but then she admits that she got a lot of it from her RN friend, and that her doctor is an internist, not a psychiatrist. The counselor frowns that they'll have to take Vanessa off most of the meds, since some of them are contraindicated and are probably making her worse. Vanessa, suddenly on the verge of tears, sighs, "Shit," and she rubs her forehead and says, "I feel like I'm in a hole, and I just feel like the hole keeps getting deeper and deeper." The counselor isn't surprised, but says they'll try to fix that, then chides her, "Antidepressants aren't magic bullets, Vanessa," and Vanessa nods, a tear running down her face.
Back at Fisher, Diaz, His Wife & Her Lover, Nate is escorting a client through the lobby when Arthur stops him to say that David told him what's going on with Lisa. Nate sends the client on into the parlor, stares at the creepy smile on Arthur's face, and says curtly, "Yes, and?" Arthur "consoles" him by citing census statistics which state that "women are three times less likely to die from misadventure than men." In response to Nate's "whert the ferk?" look, Arthur notes that he finds statistics "to be comforting in times of stress and…uncertainty." Instead of yelling, "Your weirdo shtick is played, Admiral Nutbar," Nate confines himself to snapping that he's got an intake to deal with. Arthur eagerly asks to join him, as he's "always hungry for new learning experiences," and Nate is all, "Sure, why not," and follows Arthur into the parlor with an "oy, what next?" look on his face.
In the parlor, Mr. Su -- the husband of the convenience store clerk -- makes with the anvil-flinging, saying that they'd gotten robbed before and that Dorothy wanted them to retire, but he just kept putting it off. Arthur shakes his head sympathetically as Mr. Su continues, "Maybe next year…maybe the year after that. And now she is taken away from me." A shot of Nate looking ill as Mr. Su wails, "How can she not be here? One minute she's there, the next she's gone, like she was never there." Nate rouses himself from his musings on the parallels between Mr. Su and himself to murmur soothingly, "Well, at least she's no longer suffering." Mr. Su and Arthur shoot Nate "the hell?" looks. Nate, confused: "She had cancer, right?" Mr. Su bellows, "No! She was shot in a hold-up!" Nate gabbles an apology, then falls silent, and it's up to Arthur to ask about interment and caskets and make the usual "whatever your budget, we can accommodate your wishes" noises. In the foreground, Nate is a million miles away, and Arthur has to prompt him a couple of times.