An SUV pulls up into a suburban driveway. Norman calls back to Carcetti to get out, but he's so heavily passed out in the back seat that it takes some time to rouse him, and when he drops a shoe as he staggers toward the door, he decides it's not even worth the effort to pick it up again. Norman yells at Carcetti that their next day starts at 6:30. What, there's a 6:30 in the morning now? Dude, no job is worth working this hard when you don't even have it yet.
The next (I guess) day, the great bird hunt continues. We're back in the same alley, though Michael and Randy have developed a new technique: they've somehow acquired a badminton net and are creeping slowly down the alley, hoping they'll be able to get close enough to the pigeons to drop the net on them. Dukie rolls up, still in the previous day's clothes, though now with a fresh shiner on his left eye. Namond, instantly protective, asks what happened, and Dukie says that he got jumped by a bunch of Terrace kids. Michael says they need to hit them back just as hard, but Namond says that they need to hit them twice as hard. Before they roll out all hell-bent for leather, though, Randy tells them that they'll be vastly outnumbered, and can't plan anything like a beatdown because they'll get trounced. Someone thinks Randy's talking about guns, but he isn't...and we can tell inspiration has struck when a grin spreads across his face. Even Namond recognizes the sign of Randy getting another one of his brilliant ideas, and pulls a celebratory snap off Michael.
Elsewhere, Carcetti's finishing up a takeout meal in the back seat of his car, complaining to Norman that he's eaten about as many tuna subs on the campaign as he intends to. Norman changes the subject, offering to play him the new radio spots they're about to start running, but the CD has barely started before Carcetti gets a phone call, and announces to the car that Royce's latest TV buy is $300,000. He doesn't even care to hear what his own radio spots sound like: "They're bullshit! Weak bullshit! I wouldn't vote for me! FUCK! Fuck Royce, fuck Tony Gray -- fuck me!" He calms down just enough to ask where he's going, and Norman calmly tells him that it's "one of those neighbourhoods between Oliver and Middle East." Carcetti: "Middle East. Now, that's a good name for it -- fucking Fallujah." Norman goes on, telling Carcetti it's a "command performance" for Victorina Simmons, a woman who has sway over two big voting precincts, and a Rev. Garnett. Carcetti asks what they're "complaining about" -- "bitching about the trash or the crime or this or that...These motherfuckers...They can bite my bloody ass." And, I mean, it's not like most of us don't know this is what politicians think of us, but maybe they shouldn't think it, out loud, when we're three feet away and they're in a car with the windows down. Anyway, the driver stops the car and Carcetti hops out, pulling it together, seeming harried but interested as he asks Ms. Simmons to show him what she's mad about today.