ANY-way, a short time later, we find the Impala cooling its jets in front of a run-down, graffiti-scarred apartment building. Our Intrepid Heroes mount the main stairwell inside, gossiping about the gentleman in the photograph, one "George Darrow" who, judging by his current living arrangement, didn't barter his soul for cash. "Eh, who knows?" Dean smirks while eyeing their decrepit surroundings. "Maybe his place is full of babes in Princess Leia bikinis." Sam gets all prissy and clicks his teeth in disapproval. "Why is the dear boy such a damn pill this week?" Raoul moans. "It's making for a most tedious slog whenever the scene's focused solely on them." I couldn't agree with you more, Raoul, but I must keep this recap going. In any event, the boys have finally arrived in front of George Darrow's dingy apartment door, but before they knock, Sam spots a suspicious trail of powdery black gunk lining the threshold. So, of course, they immediately hunker down to stick their bare hands in it. "Un-SANITARY!" "What is that?" Dean frowns, drawing a couple of fingers full of the stuff up to his nose. "Pepper?" Right before he shoves his fingers into his mouth for a taste -- and you know he was going to do it -- the door creaks open, and George Darrow appears to demand, "Who the hell are you?" The boys confront him, George Darrow denies everything, Dean produces the incriminating photograph from the tin box at the crossroads, and George Darrow lets them in. Well, that was easy.
Darrow's small apartment is actually an art studio of sorts, lined with canvas upon canvas of Santeria-inspired images.