Hairspray and a .45

Clementine doesn't mean to get locked out of Bar, but does anybody? One day she heads toward her door, tries to open it.

And it's gone.

Completely gone.

She freaks out for days over the idea that she'll never get to see Sam again; then she worries she'll forget everything about the place, the people she knows there - time stops.

Life goes on, though, and Clem flows with it; she has a very brief, very intense, vodka-soaked fling with Garcia for about two weeks before she realizes she's trying to replace the man she's really in love with, but Garcia's the one who pushes her away, right on camera and it's intrusive eye.

Time heals it all. It has to.

And then Garcia and Jones are caught on-camera beating a man in a milkshake costume. Clementine can't really blame them; the guy was a prick, all of them knew it, and if she'd been in their place she would have hit him twice as hard.

That's not how the American public nor the judicial system see it. After the perp walks accidentally into traffic and dies in a splattery mess on the Grand Junction Highway, Garcia and Jones are charged with murder. The station surrenders their tapes, and suddenly all of them are under fire.

Clem can go up the river for this. She's beyond aware of this fact, and it sucks.

She goes home and contemplates her sucky life under the low glow of candles and a marijuana haze.


And when she looks to the right, there's the door.

There's.

The.

Fucking.

Door.