Back at the Sun, Gus and his fellow editors are giving Templeton's homeless copy one last once-over -- it's a good enough story, apparently, for even Gus to shower praise upon a reporter he normally doesn't give the time of day. "This one really feels like the real deal," Gus says, and he doesn't know how accurate that assessment is. "What I like most about it is you didn't overwrite it." That's funny -- what I like most about it is that the interview is with an actual person as opposed to a literary invention. To each his own. Templeton thanks Gus for his unqualified praise and turns to go. But Gus has one last question for him -- did he check on that complaint about his death-by-seafood story? Scott says that he has and pronounces his story beyond reproach. "The sister's good people," Templeton says, "but there's another woman, up there, unrelated, keeps getting arrested for kiting checks and stuff. And she, uh, she uses the sister's name every time she gets locked up. She's done it three or four times now." "No shit?" Gus asks. No -- shit. I don't believe Templeton at all. More important, Gus doesn't either, if his pensive expression is anything to go by.
One hundred and fifty-four miles to the south, Larry/Donald is trying to eat a piece of bread -- the bread is winning the battle. Larry/Donald picks at the crust and drops the bread and flails about helplessly -- McNulty's watching this all, and looking sickened. Perhaps the magnitude of what he's done is beginning to sink in. Or perhaps he's thinking about last night Orioles game. Either thought is a distinct possibility. McNulty flags down the understanding social worker and asks if there's anything else he can do here. Nah, she'll take it from here. "Thanks for bringing him in," she says. "Most people, they just ignore them." How about transporting them across state lines for the purpose of perpetuating a fraud against city government -- would most people do that? McNulty takes one last look at Larry/Donald and bolts out of the homeless shelter. He can't get out of there fast enough. Once outside, he stares off into space before getting into his car and driving off. Perhaps he's wondering what the odds are that no one in that shelter will pick up a newspaper or turn on a TV in the coming days and realize that the sensational twist in the big murder case out of Baltimore is sitting there in the lobby eating bread. Because I'm kind of curious about that myself.