Six Feet Under
The Invisible Woman

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Dead women tell no tales

Over at the Fortress, Nate is holding up various dresses so that David can help choose which one to bury the DGDJ in. When he models a particularly nasty pink number, David tells him, "That one makes you look fat." Heh. They finally settle on the blue dress, because it's falling apart and David wants to get rid of it. This doesn't sit well at all with Ruth, who was dusting the casket wall in the next room. She reminds that if the DGDJ specified that she was to be buried in her own clothes (which she did), then one of the boys should go over to her house and pick something out. David remembers The Late Nate doing that sort of thing occasionally, so the Live Nate agrees to head over and get something "dressy." Ruth invites herself along as well, much to Nate's chagrin.

More hooker talk. Scrunchieface goes on at length about how she has to trust her instincts when dealing with potentially dangerous clients. She claims to be able to tell everything she needs to know about a person just from looking into their eyes. Of course, she's looking into Brenda's eyes while she says this, and she hasn't run away screaming in fear of being bored to death, so maybe that sixth sense of hers isn't working quite as well as it should. Especially when you consider that she's practically the only person on the show who DOESN'T see dead people. Brenda is ecstatic that there's "no bullshit" about Scrunchieface, but is then disappointed a bit when Scrunchie demystifies her career as a prostitute by calling it "just a way to pay the bills."

At the DGDJ's house, the landlord is apologizing for not being able to attend the funeral. Nate desperately tries to convince him to come, to no avail. Meanwhile, Ruth is already going through the poor woman's belongings. This is why I want to be cremated.

Out on the streets, Keith and his partner (his cop partner, that is) are discussing Taylor and Eddie. The "joke" here is that two manly cops are discussing child-rearing and relationship issues like they're about to sit down for a latte and a conversation about that "not so fresh" feeling. The partner relates a story that explains why keeping all your anger bottled up inside isn't a good thing: "My wife's cousin was a very angry person, but she never showed it. She just cleaned all day and then she lost both her breasts. It's weird." I'll say. At least Keith doesn't have to worry about that. For any number of reasons, in fact. This pleasant conversation is interrupted by the arrival of a pair of bickering junkies. Girl Junkie screams at Boy Junkie for being worthless, and then Boy Junkie pulls out a pistol and starts threatening her. Our hero cops spring into action at this point, drawing their own weapons and yelling for Boy Junkie to put the gun down. There's more screaming (and some spitting), but when Boy Junkie turns to face the cops, gun still in hand, Keith drops him with a single shot to the chest. Dun dun duh!

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Six Feet Under

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