Over at the Sun, Templeton comes in with "some good stuff." Intrigued, Gus asks what he's got. "I got a kid in a wheelchair outside the stadium wanting to go to the game, but unable because he didn't have the money for a scalped ticket." "Sounds pretty good," says Gus, rubbing his mustache. "You got art?" Scott says he tried, but the photogs were booked with the game. "It's your main color piece! You gotta have a picture of the kid if he's your lead! Can we send 'em out now?" "I guess. He probably rolled out, but you could try." "Shit. How old was this fella?" "Thirteen." Gus asks about the parents, and why the kid wasn't in school. "In this city? He just cut." "What about his parents?" "Both dead, no shit. He lives with his aunt in West Baltimore." Gus wonders why the kid's in a wheelchair, and Templeton replies that there was something about a stray gunshot: "It was all pretty vague." Apparently, the kid didn't even want to use his real name, only going by "E.J." Augustus seems very skeptical about the authenticity of the story, and tells some rewritist to check out some old clips to see if she can find anything about the kid. "If we find him, I'd love get art on the kid." "Don't hold your breath," she replies. Fucking Templeton, dude. I don't like that guy. He's makin' it up, I know it.