Elsewhere, D'Angelo waits. Presently, his phone rings, and he springs up to get it, whereupon he hears Stringer's voice tell him, "It's done. Nice work, 'cuz." D'Angelo nods: "A-ight." He hangs up and wanders off, frowning. That one only took seven seconds. Bye, Brandon. I hope you and Oscar Wilde are totally making out right now, and that Dylan feels all weird and confused about it.