An unfocused shot of a ceiling vent takes us to Bodie, lying in bed, looking like hell. A big dude takes a gander and is moved to utter a "Damn, boy." "You should see the cop," says Bodie hoarsely. The guy tells him that when he's ready, he needs to get up and put on a uniform, and not to report to his bunk any later than breakfast. Bodie asks who else is there: "Anybody from Westside?" "D.C. boys, mostly," says the...guard? Orderly? Social worker? Warden? I'll stick with "dude." Bodie tries to get out of bed, holding his hand to his gut and wheezing painfully as he looks around at his new colleagues. Let's just say they could look friendlier. He regards his uniform -- a plain grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants -- but before he can actually contemplate putting on his new kit, he spots a mop bucket out in the hall.

Moments later, Bodie is wheeling the bucket along the hall -- and leaning pretty heavily on the mop handle for support, it looks like. He manages to get past one set of doors, and then spots a tape line on the floor marked "INMATES DO NOT CROSS." Plotting his next move, he sees a female social worker (I'm guessing) flirting with the guard at the reception desk; he gambles that their conversation is engrossing enough that he'll be able to wheel past them and straight out a side door. And his gamble pays off big-time, as Bodie pulls off the easiest prison break ever. Okay, fine: juvie break. Still: no improbable tattoo required or anything. Well done.

Herc sips 7-11 coffee in a cop car, complaining to Carver, who's driving, "Long fucking drive. Me and you drawing another shit detail." Carver says it's not a shit detail, but Herc begs to differ, bitching that they're out in the country and still going south: "Look! Another cow!" Carver snickers, but tells Herc to use his imagination: "This little shitbird, having already been whipped good by us once -- he sees us, right? And he starts crying like a little bitch, because he knows we drove all the way down to Prince George's just for more of his ass, right?" Herc squints and nods thoughtfully, apparently actually using his imagination to conceive of what it might be like to make a kid cry out of fear that a grown man was going to kick his ass around. Carver continues embroidering detail on the tale of torture to come -- the small room, the lie that Mahone is nearly dead by Bodie's hand, the threat of scrotal amputation...it's enough to give Eli Roth a boner. Anyway, at the end of all this, Bodie will start giving up Barksdalies' names left and right: "Little prick turns on everybody, and we break the case wide open." "Cool," says Herc, already celebrating their inevitable victory. Truly, it's 7-11 coffee time. Only, d'oh! As Carver pulls the car in at "BOY'S [sic] VILLAGE," Bodie's already just up the road, thumbing a ride the hell out of there. Guess that means Herc doesn't get a suspiciously inexpensive taquito to go with that coffee. No one's stopping for the kid limping, spattered with blood, and six inches away from the BOY'S VILLAGE sign, for some reason, so Bodie gives up, flips his hood, and starts walking.