Outside, McNulty asks Ronnie, "What's with him?" "You haven't heard?" she marvels. She flicks through her papers and hands a flyer to McNulty, asking, "What's wrong with the picture?" He doesn't know. We see the flyer, which advertises a Democratic campaign fundraiser; there are photos of five incumbent judges, but, as Ronnie points out, Phelan's not among them. "What, he's up for election?" asks McNulty. "I thought judges had fifteen-year terms!" Jesus, they do? What's the point of even electing them? Ronnie exposits that Phelan was appointed to finish some other judge's term, on which there were only two years left, so now he has to "run on his own in the primary." McNulty can't believe he's not on the ticket, and Ronnie, rubbing his back, offers, "Maybe it's the company he keeps." "Aw, ffffffuck," says McNulty exhalingly. It really is remarkable that, given all the heartache he causes other people, McNulty is only rarely reminded of it.
At his apartment, D'Angelo is exhaustedly staring out the window and Donette is dressing their adorable baby, crabbing that D'Angelo's not thinking about how much room the baby will need, especially as he starts getting older: "Like a real crib, a play desk, and you know he gotta have one of them Little Tikes cars. I'm not saying your place ain't nice enough, 'cause for you, it do just fine, but if we gonna be a family, we need at least one more room, if not two." She drones on as D'Angelo goes to the fridge for a fortifying beverage, instead finding a toy truck, like, in the crisper. By the time Donette gets around to bitching that his couch isn't nice enough for her, D'Angelo's already grabbed his pager and keys and stomped out without a word. I mean, I hear what Donette's saying, but if she's going to make this work in the long run, she needs to learn to nag on the sly, so the naggee can't really tell.