Prison cell. We pan across a shelf of books -- including titles like The Milagro Beanfield War and Frankenstein -- to some grooming products and a framed photo of a defiant-looking Donette, and finally down to a framed photo of Tyrell, which D'Angelo is gazing at as he holds it in his hand. He smiles a bit and places it back on the shelf, before going to his cell door and pulling it closed. Hidden from the rest of the tier, he crouches down at his toilet/sink deal, where he'd taped the last of his stash. Peeling the two little twists of paper off the underside of the toilet bowl, he carefully opens them up, scrapes out their contents, and flushes the whole mess down the commode. The alligators that live in the sewer are going to be so fucked up, you guys.
Detail office. Lester has lined up several Post-It flags on his CPU and sticks one to a database printout he's working on before setting the page on a pile on the side of his desk. Beside him, illuminated in the sickly blue glow of her monitor, Beadie unleashes a jaw-cracking yawn. This is the glamorous side of police work I imagine they don't show you in recruitment films.
Kima's taken Cheryl to show her some containers like the one her victims died in. As they gaze at it from the sidewalk, Kima explains, "They had about a third of that space hidden behind the fake wall. A few flashlights, some junk food, some water. A portable toilet they had to share." She takes a long beat before delivering the kicker: "And not enough air." Cheryl turns to look at Kima, and then turns back and moves off. See, Cheryl? You're not just kind of bitchy: you're also a bad feminist.
Courtroom. McNulty sits in the back, flanked by Bunk and Omar, as Phelan says he's going to schedule sentencing in Bird's case for the next month. Satisfied, our three amigos stand and file out as Levy tells Phelan that, since Bird preserved the grounds for appeal in the record, he wants Levy to state that he has been the victim of perjury on Omar's part. Bird wants an appeal bond set so that he can participate in the investigation. Phelan's like, "Girl, please." He's so disgusted by the suggestion in a conviction on first-degree murder that he says the pre-sentencing report is a formality as far as he's concerned: "Mr. Hilton has been found guilty of killing a state's witness who testified in this very courtroom. He did so in cold blood, and for pay. Unless the pre-sentence report indicates that he is, in fact, the Messiah come again, he will very likely be sentenced to life, no parole, by a Baltimore judge who, for once in his life, gets to leave his office feeling that his job actually matters." Turning to Bird, he asks, "Are you the second coming of our saviour?" Bird doesn't get it, but Phelan's clearly enjoying playing to the crowd: "Are you Jesus Christ come back to Earth?" Bird: "Um..." Phelan bangs his gavel: "See you at sentencing." Levy stalks off in defeat. Bird looks completely confused as the bailiff steps forward to cuff him. I guess that, no matter how much they prepared, Levy couldn't have coached Bird with an answer to that one.