Upstairs at the firehouse, meanwhile, Kameelah and Syrus continue on with their spirited round of what Kameelah perceives as "flirting," what Syrus perceives as "hanging," and what I decisively designate evermore as, "Please. Stop. Please stop talking for five seconds. You're both driving me in-freakin'-sane. Really. Please. Really." Syrus is smack dab in the middle of telling Kameelah that he doesn't discriminate when it comes to dating, questionably adding that he will "do the whole rainbow." She tests this theory, asking him, "You've dated Asian women?" Syrus responds with the cringeworthy comment, "Yeah, I got a gang of Ninjas," and Kameelah pauses for a moment to scan the dig for personal offense before finding it clear and sacrificing her own ostensible feminism long enough to choke out a shrill laugh in the misguided assumption that she still might have a chance with him. Which she doesn't. For which she should -- and will -- thank her lucky little stars some day very, very soon. Not content to end this already lifeless conversation until Kameelah hears Syrus get down on his knees and tell her, "I'd stick it down a sewer pipe if you gave me the chance, but the one I really, really want is you," Kameelah continues the interrogation accordingly: "Would you marry a white woman?" Syrus pretty much speaks to his entire arc as a character in observing, "I'd marry anyone," in that way that really means, "I'd marry everyone, if only this pesky little thing called 'outlawed polygamy' didn't stand in the way of me giving each and every honey on the planet the good, good lovin' she so obviously desires from me." I'm not sure, Syrus, but I think there might also be a law in the books against marrying yourself, which would be a real tragedy, considering that's who you truly love most in the world. Guiltlessly tut-tutting his approach to interracial relationships, Kameelah quickly changes the subject to any topic other than Syrus' player ways, looking around her room and commenting, "Where's my comb? You see a comb around here?" She goes about the distracting business of curling her hair and Syrus tries to keep the conversation afloat and affable with some idle small talk (in contrast to all that riveting profound musing on God, life, and the meaning of all things in the universe we've seen until now) about how messy her room is. Don't you talk about my room that way! But it is messy! So is yours! Must. Shut. Up.