There's a sign hanging over the register that says, "No ladies at the bar. Table service starts at 6 PM." Nancy decides to push it, because the dude is hot and standing right there staring at her, and she can smell him too. The sign was his dad's, who is dead now, but he doesn't feel like taking it down. "You want to buy a Lincoln Towncar?" They both agree that this is not his style. He drives, Nancy deciphers correctly, a pickup truck, ten to fifteen years old, still has a cassette player with a tape stuck in it." Huge smile, but he doesn't see it.
(Who wrote this episode? This is great! Victoria Morrow, whose sparkling dialogue was also of note in "Felling & Swamping," "Machetes Up Top," and "Love Circle Overlap," the one with the ayahuasca. Ms. Morrow, we salute you.)
Now fully invested in fucking the taciturn stranger with the off-putting lackadaisical gender politics, Nancy calls another pocket: "Customer excusing complete lack of service and pouring herself a shot." She does so, she pours one for him too. He won't quite look her in the eye, he keeps wiping glasses and feeling himself being seduced, but he won't drink the shot either. She pulls down the NO LADIES sign, and finally gets his attention when she sets it on the floor, and then does a little dance on it. He can't look away, now: She dances on it like a cockroach.
Doug eats some hash even though Shane tells him not to, but as usual Randy's more into the role than whatever is supposed to be actually going on. His cover business is always his real business. There is no difference. He runs around screaming, and getting everything ready for the big show/baptism. Outside, Simon and Silas continue to bond about what it's like to be drifting and sort of owned by your parents in a way you can't quite escape: "Nobody is here who has anyplace better they can be. It's pretty much the end of the road." Simon's dad shot somebody and the guy didn't die. All Silas can say is that they weren't so lucky.
The ceremony itself is exactly what Nancy was running away from: Dramatic, nonsensical, loud, confusing, Jesusy, Andy working the crowd, the toothless scary yucky crowd, and call Keith a child of the Lord and a "flower of the field." He really is. He's just a sweet little old meth-addicted flower of the field. I love him like I love certain rare American Idol contestants. I cannot help it. Normally all this "I'm saved, Granny! I'm saved!" stuff would trip some kind of trigger in me and I would be quietly offended but no. It's Keith. I would buy a baby pool and put it in my yard just in the hopes that the Keiths would stop there on their annual flight to Capistrano. I could blissfully watch them -- for an hour, maybe a day -- frolickin' and tumblin' gently.