Bubbles and Johnny are now trying to buy drugs. This is awfully hard to do, on account of them spending their radiator-and-pipe money on new pants. And wouldn't you know it, they found the one drug dealer in Baltimore who's not susceptible to their "I will gladly pay you Tuesday for two hits of heroin today" gambit. Instead, they'll just have to buy one hit with their remaining cash and split the score between them. The affecting thing about this scene for me is not the depths of degradation suffered by Bubbles and Johnny, but rather that the underage dealer is an asthmatic who's puffing on an inhaler between sales. You have an eye for the crushing detail, David Simon.
Daniels is in Burrell's office, briefing him on the get-to-Prop-Joe-via-that-blabbermouth-Drac plan; Burrell appears more interested in practicing his chip shots. "What makes you think they'll promote the wrong man?" Burrell wonders. Daniels's piercing stare at Burrell says more than any of the rest of us ever could, even with the entire dictionary at our disposal. "We do it all the time," Daniels finally says, without once redirecting his gaze away from Burrell, who chuckles the chuckle of a man who knows all too well how mediocrity is grease on the fast track to success. Say, while we're on the subject of promotions, what about that promotion to Major that Burrell promised Daniels way back when? Yeah, Mayor Royce is holding it up: seems he's not too pleased about Daniels's wife planning a city council run against one of the mayoral allies. Daniels protests that they had a deal; Burrell notes that Daniels has his precious unit, and he passed along Daniels's name for promotion. No one said anything about actually securing said promotion. Read the fine print on the contract, pal -- the devil's legal counsel is especially thorough.
At the best Major League baseball park in America -- sorry, the subject is not open for debate, and all dissent shall be brutally suppressed -- McNulty and Bunk are taking in an Orioles game with Li'l Bunk from the upper deck, and scanning the pricey seats for McNulty's ex-wife. Lest you think this is completely stalker-ific, the ex-wife is dropping of the kids with McNulty in the middle of the fourth; the fact that the ex-wife has brought a date to the game makes it only mildly stalker-ific. By the way, just to let you know the kind of recapper you're dealing with, I just spent the last few minutes using a fleeting establishing shot of the Camden Yards scoreboard to figure out exactly which Orioles-White Sox game this is taking place at -- my guess is this one, which means the evening is going to end about as well for the O's as it will McNulty. ["Whereas I might've fixated on the team colours while congratulating myself for not identifying them as the Ravens." -- Wing Chun]