Over at The Sun, it's time for a cigarette break, and Gus is amusing Twigg, Price, and Phelps with a journalistic war story about someone's desk telling another's to go fuck itself, which I'll bet would be funny if I had any idea who the hell he's talking about. The men all share a chuckle, and Templeton walks up. Gus asks him what he's got for him today, and Scott replies that he's got a "heartbreaker from East Side. Uh, salt-of-the-earth single mother of four dies from allergic reaction to blue crabs. Ate 'em all her life, but goes facedown. Pronounced an hour later at Hopkins, and the sister is starting a scholarship fund for the kids. Interviewed the whole family. Photos, the works." "Attaboy," says Gus. "Round it off with some medical stuff on seafood toxicity, huh?" Scott agrees, and once he's gone, Gus shakes his head. "Ever notice how a mother of four is always catchin' hell? Huh? Murder, hit-and-run, burnin' up in a house fire, swindled by bigamists." "Tough gig, mother of four," says Price, taking a drag. "Innocent bystander is worse," submits Twigg. "He's always gettin' the short end." "Not a lot of them around anymore," says Gus, grimly. "Not a lot of innocence, either, you ask me." Tim Phelps brings some levity: "You know who there's less of? Statuesque blondes. You don't read about statuesque blondes in the newspapers anymore. Buxom ones, neither." Amen, Phelps. You're goddamn right. Gus stamps out his stoag, and heads in, announcing that it's time for a "school project meeting. Mr. Whiting builds his Pulitzer." This is met with some dour chuckles from the others who are still finishing their smokes.

McNulty gets off the bus at the crime scene, and Bobby Brown (who's hungrily devouring a pastry) says, "Well, now I've seen everything." McNulty wordlessly heads inside, Brown close in tow. Once they're inside, Brown asks McNulty why he didn't take a cab, and Jimmy responds that if he thought he'd ever get reimbursed for it, he would have. He goes on to explain that Homicide only has two working vehicles. "What a joke," says Brown. They both head upstairs to look at the deceased, and Brown breaks down her stats: "Sixty-seven-year-old female, mother of four, grandmother to many. Lived alone." Apparently, a neighbor called her in, because he hadn't seen her, and there appears to be no forced entry. McNulty examines the corpse, and notes that she's probably been there for a couple of days or more, judging from the bloating. Brown suspects the death was natural, but he didn't like the way the body looked with the pillow over her face. McNulty agrees that it was natural, and goes on to joke that on hungover mornings, he tends to hold the pillow over his face. "Me?" says Brown, "I just throw up once or twice, and go to work." Heh. "The Western District way," says Jimmy with a chuckle.