Oh, great. Back to Dr. Abe, in a session with his own therapist, discussing, I presume, his intimacy issues, since he seems to have no other qualities. Therapist tells him to "describe the feeling inside," Abe asks "Before or after?" and therapist tells him both. Inside what? That's what I'd like to know. Before, says honest Abe, is "deep, hot burning. It's some kind of brain hi-jack, control loss. It's pure caveman. I just want to bite and chew and consume." Very pretty. Then we move on to "the panic," which consists of "double-dates, 'honey, I'm home,' double-teamed answering machines," and blah blah blah babies and blah blah blah Wet Ones are the smell of death. Oh, don't get him wrong, Dr. Abe understands that kids are rewarding, but he "can't stomach the slow rot." As if undergoing a sudden epiphany, Abe says, "Mick Jagger was asked why he always slept with models. Because I can. Because I can." Dr. Abe is rapidly establishing himself as a complete idiot. And what's the big deal if he doesn't want to get hitched or have kids? Who cares? Work that Warren Beatty vibe for the rest of your life, buddy, just do us a favor and shut up about it.

Traffic. Land Rover. Dr. Bobby (there's a vehicle theme in the Banger family) rehearsing a rebuttal to potential statements from his wife concerning an inability to separate work and family. He plans to call for eliminating emotion and looking at the situation objectively. Back at the hospital, a lazy-eyed patient sits on a bed, staring at a fetching pair of plastic sandals, as a small rhinoceros slowly emerges from behind one of them. It shuffles along the floor, providing our very first peek at the hallucinations of the mentally disturbed. A mini-rhino? What a letdown.

As the music swells, people bustle to work, Abe's albatross sits smoking in bed, and Wendell Rickle introduces himself. Obviously bonkers (thanks! to the shaky-cam), wandering the city streets at quite a clip, he discusses his problem with "eyeball pressure." He can tell, he says, "because the burning up inside of my shoulders, both of the hot spots where my transmitter and receiver are packed in." Wendell is losing it fast (he's riding the Tram from Roosevelt Island, which explains a lot) as he launches into a dandy spoken-word riff on the psycho's alphabet -- addiction, beta blockers, compulsion, delusions, electro convulsive therapy, and so on, all the way through Y (yellow-bellied head shrinkers) to Z, which is for, of course, Atlas. Because Wendell is crazy and backwards is forwards and if I have to sit through forty-five more minutes of this heavy-handed symbolism, I'll combust. Anyway, Z is for Atlas because, like Wendell, Atlas must bear the weight of the entire world because he sided with the Titans in their battle against Zeus. So maybe Z is really for Zeus. Whatever. While Wendell practices for his SAG card, everyone else is walking to work, and Wendell is walking among them (this is an inner monologue, you see), and somehow all of the people we've been watching in all these different slice-of-life vignettes suddenly converge on the sidewalk and they're all walking to work together, which is really funny since that exact same thing happens to me almost every day. It's a breathtaking urban moment. Or a weird flashback to It's A Living.