Pratt is drowning his sorrows at a bar -- the same one where Luka managed to pick up a hooker in his hour of need, so maybe they swapped notes earlier today. Gallant slides onto a barstool next to Pratt, who doesn't take kindly to this. "Come by to give me some more?" he snots. "I'm not in the mood." Gallant orders a beer and commiserates about the neck incident. "That's hard stuff," he says. Then he awkwardly explains that Valerie is the only girl in a big family that tends to get overprotective of her. Pratt decides to share that his mother died when he was twelve. "That's some hard-ass stuff right there," he says. Are we supposed to think he can win in the Shit-Ass Stuff Derby he's running here against Martin? Because I think Martin wins, what with having brittle bones and quadriplegia on top of having a dead mom of his own. Shut up, Pratt. He goes on about how you have to get used to being alone when you have a dead mom and a deadbeat dad, and I think we're supposed to feel sad that Pratt's love-starved, but I really don't. "Truth is, all anybody's got is themselves," he mutters. Gallant doesn't agree with that, but Pratt's in no mood to have friends right now, because he's already decided that he's alone in life and very pathetic -- completely forgetting that he has a brother that he sent away, and a loving aunt in Baltimore who took in said exiled brother. Pratt wants Gallant to hurry up and make his point, which Gallant had been trying to do before Pratt's pity party started; Gallant begins, "My sister..." and Pratt interrupts, "...played me. She played me." Gallant smirks. And I have to say, props to Valerie for playing the player. "You can't say I didn't warn you," Gallant says lightly. "You were protecting me, huh?" Pratt spits, not without amusement. They sort of make up with some half-assed utterances of "I'm sorry," and then Gallant leaves, bricking a full beer. The bartender moves to clear it, but Pratt snags it, and we leave him alone to drown his sorrows in a vat of barley and hops.