Bubbles and Johnny sell their radiator and piping for cash at a salvage yard. "Y'all know you ain't got pants?" the purchaser asks. Yes, they are aware.
Lunchtime. Burrell is having a heaping plate of something or other, Carcetti a cup of coffee with a side order of anecdote about a fiery-though-long-gone Baltimore politico. Carcetti's point? He doesn't want to be the subject of someone else's anecdotes about earthy-yet-ultimately-unheralded politicians twenty-five years hence -- he's got hopes and dreams, man. And you, Acting Commissioner Burrell, you can help. Just let your new pal Carcetti help you out: "If you were smart, you'd come to me when the mayor shorts you on hiring, on equipment, on overtime, on cars. You get the shit end of the stick, you come to me. Not publicly. I know you can't cross the mayor publicly. But backdoor, you come to me, and I can use that subcommittee to give you what you need." Burrell's not buying what Carcetti's selling: "Long ago, when I was just starting out in the Department, I had the good fortune to be taught a little something about chain of command." So no dice, councilman. Burrell leaves enough to cover his meal and Carcetti's coffee, and tells the councilman he can pick up the tip. At least he didn't tell Carcetti to go home and get his fucking shinebox, though, by the look on Carcetti's face, he may as well have.
It's a beautiful day for a ball game, even at the Jessup Correctional Institutional, and Wee-Bey is stalking the sidelines with a gent we'll call Dennis "Cutty" Wise (Chad L. Coleman), since that is his proper name. Cutty is getting out of prison the next day, after fourteen years in the pen, and Wee-Bey is inquiring about his prospects for post-prison life -- maybe he's got an internship lined up, or he's going to devote time to finishing his studies. Or maybe he'd like a job as a soldier in the Barksdale Gang instead. To seal the recruitment deal, Avon comes sauntering across the prison field to join the conversation between Cutty and Wee-Bey -- the baseball game grinds to a halt as Avon takes his sweet time moving from one side of the field to another. This is almost exactly like watching Barry Bonds in his last few seasons with the Giants -- and perhaps the only kind of baseball game Bonds might be involved with in the near future, come to think of it. "You did you a little stretch, true," Avon tells Cutty. "But you still a soldier, right?" If he is, Cutty is a very non-ommittal soldier. Avon presses -- with the Towers gone, he's looking to expand his business, and with his early release from prison all but secured, he would like to hit the ground running with a revamped operation. Wee-Bey passes Cutty a phone number; Avon is most insistent that Cutty give it a call when he gets out. Cutty takes his leave, without really seeming too enthusiastic about this exciting new business opportunity. "The joint might have broke him," Avon observes. Considering that Cutty is apparently doing time for walking up and shooting a guy in broad daylight and then phoning the police to tell them to come pick up the body, Wee-Bey dismisses Avon's assessment out of hand.