- Emily Foster: [a red pickup truck driver is ready to ram into her and Brett on Ambulance 61] Hold our ground.
- Sylvie Brett: Oh, hell, yeah, I'm holding our ground.
- [into her radio]
- Sylvie Brett: All units, we're at the dead end on Leavitt. He's cornered, but it looks like he wants to rush us.
- [the pickup truck driver starts moving towards them]
- Sylvie Brett: Oh, pickles.
- [Truck 81, Squad 3, and Engine 51 arrive and cut off any major gaps the pickup truck driver can escape through]
- Kelly Severide: Nice job, ladies.
- [Brett and Foster laugh]
- Emily Foster: Pickles?
- Sylvie Brett: I don't know! It just came out. Shut up.
- Emily Foster: Okay.
- Stella Kidd: Normal people don't use the post office anymore.
- Randall McHolland: I know it's... it's hard to imagine with your email and Facebook and Myspace. But there's something about the written word that can't be replicated in electrons.
- Stella Kidd: You're right. I can't imagine it.
- Ritter: Whatcha doin'?
- Randall McHolland: Seeing if I can make sense of this code. Find out who the letter belongs to.
- Ritter: Oh. No luck at the post office?
- Randall McHolland: Oh, you mean the living monument to the demise of public service.
- Sylvie Brett: You okay?
- Stella Kidd: Yeah, of course. Why?
- Sylvie Brett: You've got your "angst with Severide" face on.