Theoretical viagra. There's another word for it, but I can never remember. [Aphrodisiacs. It sounds like a breed of designer dogs to Joan.] Horny juice. Whatever. You get used to it.

[She leads Sam to a street corner where some kid-- he's not really a kid, but anybody under 23 is a kid in Joan's mind-- is advertising a new shop selling hand-carved dildos; she tells him to fuck off, and he scrambles away after he's pressed a pamphlet into her hand.] Oh, for God's sake.