Jenny takes Ray's hand, and the jury finds for the plaintiff. The damages awarded are seventy-five cents. Damn. Jenny smiles. Ray is happy. Well, to the bar, already? Ray starts talking in a southern accent. What?

Ray's at the bar, singing "Polk Salad Annie." Everyone watches. Glenn says he begged Ray not to sing. Elaine says he isn't "terrible." Jenny says Glenn said Ray "couldn't hit a note." Elaine says he's "hitting one of [hers]," and the sound of a mortocycle engine revving plays. The bar cheers.

Nelle rants to Richard about John. She's really worried. Then she hears Ray singing, and turns around to get a look. Corretta's mortocycle engine revs. Jenny's engine, sounding a little more like a Kawasaki 450 than Elaine's Harley, revs as well. Get it?

El Shrinkador notes that it's 9 PM on Friday night, and that he has a life, and plans. Could they resume the session on Monday? Ally sits up on the couch and says sure, she guesses. Then, he tells her to go home and gussy herself up as if she were going out on a date, even though she doesn't have one. Because Christmas is nothing compared to Christmas Eve. "Isn't that pathetic?" asks Ally. Yes. I mean, "no." Oh, I don't even know anymore. El Shrinkador tells her to "celebrate the spirit of a relationship in lieu of actually having one." He asks for her hand. "Pretend to be happy!" Fine, just like people pretend to be entertained by watching this show.

Ray walks Jenny home. They have they awkward doorstep moment, and thank each other for working together so well. Well, goodnight. Pause. Silence, interrupted by Vonda singing, "I think we're alone now." Then, gentle kiss. Jenny sighs. Night! Night. The final shot is of Ally on her couch, gussied up in a pretty dress, alone. Pathetic, yes? Yes.