As Our Intrepid Heroes stroll down this tiny little burg's main drag, post-breakfast, a yappy yet admirably restrained golden retriever snaps at their heels as the two amble past, with Sam focusing all of his disbelieving attention on the mangy cur before continuing to deliberate the matter at hand, which now happens to be his increasingly unhinged reaction to this unbelievably lengthy bout of déjà vu. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean shrugs. "Okay, look," Sam explains for what is obviously the tenth time, "yesterday was Tuesday, but today is Tuesday, too!" He's ranting a bit by the end of that, leading Dean to deadpan, "Good! You're totally balanced." "So you don't believe me?" Sam blurts as a distracted blonde body-checks Li'l Stumpy as she passes the boys heading in the opposite direction. Dean offers her a quickly appraising side-eye while the distracted blonde mumbles a hasty apology and keeps moving, as Sam gapes endlessly over how freakish his day has become. "I'm just saying it's crazy," Dean offers. "I mean, Even-For-Us crazy -- Dingo-Ate-My-Baby crazy." "Hey, maybe it was one of your psychic premonitions!" Dean supposes, making an entirely reasonable guess. Sam brushes that suggestion off immediately, claiming the entire experience has been far too "vivid" thus far, before verbally retracing their steps the previous day -- until the two pass that pair of movers struggling with an oversized desk at a storefront's door. "I told you it wouldn't fit," grouses the first mover. "Whaddya want, a Pulitzer?" the second sneers back. A better retort is all I'm asking for, guys, but I've seen this episode already, and I know that's certainly not in the offing, so fuck the both of you and shut up so I can listen to Darling Sammy realize it must be The Mystery Spot that's affecting his brain. Dean agrees that they'll break into the place that evening after it closes, but the very idea sends Sam into a wild-haired panic, and he bats at Dean repeatedly while insisting they hit The Spot now, during business hours, when it's good and crowded. Dean's all, "Fine! Whatever! We'll do it now!" and pulls The Dean Winchester Patented Bow-Legged Clompy Stomp Of Great Vengeance And Furious Anger right into oncoming traffic! "VIOLENCE!" roars Raoul, clapping his paws together with delight as a mint-green monster of a '70s sedan sends Li'l Stumpy flipping ass over end through the air until he finally crashes into the asphalt at the center of the intersection, beaten to a thoroughly bloody pulp. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Old Coot Pickett, who's naturally at the sedan's wheel, Alzheimers what I'm certain is meant to be his dismay over this unfortunate sequence of events while Sam howls over to scoop his brother up in his arms and shake Dean awake, because everyone knows that stabilizing a blunt-force trauma victim's spinal column is for pussies. For his part, Dean just flops around, dead. "'ACK! ACK! GLAAAAAAAH!'" Nice of you to include the tongue this time, Raoul. And are we enjoying ourselves over there on our overstuffed armchair? "We are!" Excellent.