Morning dawns -- way too early. In his basement room, Nick falls over the body in bed with him to drop a mitt on his alarm clock. There's what looks like it could turn into a snuggle, but then Nick's heavily crawling over Aimee to get out of bed. "Go around, asshole," she mutters from under the covers. "What'd you call me?" he demands. She tells him she's sleeping on that side of the bed: "Because you got to get up, everybody does?" "Yep," Nick breathes, and takes off, leaving Aimee to burrito herself in the bedding as we hear Nick loudly peeing. Aimee hasn't gone back to sleep, evidently, as she calls out to him, "Wipe off the seat, Nick, I know you hit it." This segues us to the symphony of Nick's morning noises -- peeing, horking. "If I could fart now, I would," he says, staggering back into the room. "That's a surprise," sighs Aimee. Nick pulls his pants on, and Aimee finally sits up on her elbows, asking if there's no chance for breakfast. Nick says he'll stop by the bar. Aimee, harshly, says he won't: he won't have time, because he'll have to take Aimee to her mother's to pick up Ashley. Nick tells her to hurry up, then, because he has a ship to work today. We hear Joan's heavy foot stamping on the floor upstairs as Aimee drags her ass out of bed: "Your ma knows you got a ship, too." Nick stops at the door with his shirt in his hands, telling Aimee, "Don't go upstairs. Just head out the back." Walking out of the room, Nick bashes his head into a beam or something, as Aimee, pulling on her pants, crabs at Nick that they have a kid together. I mean, honestly. I kind of think Nick's parents are on to the fact that they Do It. Aimee asks what the big deal is if they spend the night together in Nick's parents' basement, and Nick scowls, "They're decent people." Dude, what are you? Okay, you still live at home, but you're in your mid-twenties. Wouldn't they be more concerned if they thought you were still a virgin? Cut back to Aimee, pulling off Nick's t-shirt and revealing what are, even to my untrained eye, a pretty spectacular pair of boobies. Aimee may be a mother, but with a rack like that, there's no way Kristin Proctor's ever nursed anything. Anyway, she pouts as she tries to turn her shirt right-side-out; Nick, looking up and seeing her sitting there braless, sort of stumbles over and claps a hand on her boob. Guy, we've established that you're not a virgin; I know it's early, but there's never a wrong time for a little finesse. Anyway, Aimee spits that they don't have time. "I know," says Nick. Aimee asks why he was grabbing, then. Nick: "They were staring right at me." Ha! He's right; they kind of were. The left one winked. Aimee huffily pulls her shirt back on, and Nick softens the impact of his brainless pawing by taking her chin in her hand and giving her a nice kiss...and one last squeeze.
Port of Baltimore. Lester, Bunk, and Beadie are in a parked car, Bunk asking Beadie, "So how do you get the container off the ship, off the dock?" Beadie says that if you wanted to make sure no one messed with your cargo, you'd need to get with a checker; that's Local 1514: "They monitor all the loading and offloading; they match the manifests, they tally the cargo. Nothing goes in or out without them putting it down somewhere." "Or not," says Lester. "Or not," Beadie agrees. Bunk decides that they need to talk to a checker, then. Beadie starts laughing. Lester asks what's funny, and she explains, "Black, white, Polish, Irish, Italian -- it doesn't matter. No one talks to police." Bunk asks how she makes a case, then, and Beadie smiles ruefully: "I...patrol. I write traffic tickets." If there's an open or damaged container, she takes a report on it. If something's stolen, that's another report. "Someone gets something dropped on him or gets run over by a front-end loader, I keep writing." "That's the job, huh?" gruffs Lester incredulously. Beadie nods. Lester asks how long Beadie's been on the job, and she tells him it's been two years. Bunk asks what she did before that, and Beadie smirks, confessing that she took tolls at the Fort McHenry Tunnel, which wasn't as much fun. She made $22,500 a year and went home tired every night, until she walked by a bulletin board in the office one night and saw a posting for a job as a cop in the Port, "starting at thirty-three [thousand a year] with benefits." Bunk and Lester chuckle: "Toll-taking days were over, huh?" Beadie smiles with them for a moment, and then decides she has a little more to share: "Father of my two kids went to Houston in '99. Hasn't so much as called in three years. I wasn't gonna make it on twenty-two-five. Not with kids, I wasn't." She looks thoughtfully out a side window as Bunk asks, "Did you want to be a police?" Beadie considers for a moment. At least neither Bunk nor Lester is honest enough to tell her that, if she didn't, she still barely is one now.