"You're just gonna go there?" Lenny asks. In some ways, this is his favorite thing Paul's done so far. With an artist's eye, he's filling in the shadows and the textures and the strangeness of Paul, between the shell and the soft places. What was Expressionist becomes Impressionist becomes a portrait, figurative. "No diversity in my workplace," Paul explains further. "Who are we fucking kidding, there's no diversity in Minnesota." Lenny smiles: "Even my parents are white!" He's lying of course; Paul laughs a while at that one.

In their glasses the girls take the stage and sing their favorite Heart song, "What About Love?" The song is about someone loving you so much that you can't even see it. It becomes part of the architecture.

"I haven't seen her enjoying herself so much in a long time," Paul notices. Lenny agrees, but not aloud. "Yeah," is all he can say. "Yeah, she looks really happy."

Aunt Allison dances past Marlene, who thinks about kicking her ass.

What about love?

Don't you want someone to care about you?

Adam compliments his mother on the performance -- "Nice singing for two old ladies!" -- and offers her more bukkake. "Just one more bukkake, and then you have to cut me off," she jokes, still wearing her Lolita shades, and the boys nearly double over. Lenny, standing nearby with a slight headache, laughs when she offers him one.

"Do you know what bukkake is?" An Asian puff-pastry? "Bukkake is where a group of men get together for the purposes of pleasuring themselves onto a woman's face," he explains, and she swallows, staring down at it. Remembers Adam's laptop and the women there, and for a moment is shocked sober. "Adam! Brent: Home! Adam: Up to your room! You know why! I'll bukkake you!" Brent giggles; Adam advises her of the impossibility; the boys head away. What the hell?

Sean notices Rebecca's shoes from his vantage point on the floor, eating from the garbage. "Nice red leather shoes you're wearing. Tell me, do you enjoy thinking about the cow that was skinned to make them, or do you just block that part out for the sake of being fashion-forward?" He doesn't know who she is; she hasn't recognized him yet. Her deadpan "Fuck you, man" is totally authentic, bored, and defensive.