The next morning, David slowly wheels Nate into the Body Shop. Late Nate, Sr. is waiting there, tossing a football up and down and complaining about Nate dying instead of David. "You know I love you, son," he tells David, "but Nate's my little man." "I'm a man, Dad," David grits, single-handedly sliding Nate's body from the gurney to the slab. No argument here. Nate's not a small guy. Maybe he weighs a lot less without his organs. Late Nate, Sr. cites David's pattern of self-destructive behavior: "What with AIDS, and picking up strange men on the side of the road, screwing a whore with no condom, you've been begging for some kind of annihilation your whole life." And Nate hasn't? Late Nate, Sr. figures Ruth must be going insane. "Going"? "He was her favorite," he explains. David asks who was Late Nate, Sr.'s favorite, and course he answers Claire. Ignoring David's protests that he barely knew her, he chuckles, "Pretty little heartbreaker. Just like her mom, before she cracked." Which time? "You make me sick," David says. Late Nate, Sr. pleasantly says that it's mutual, and suddenly flings the football right at David's face. He flinches, but of course there's no football and only one Late Nate in there with him. Aw, and David and Late Nate, Sr. had such a nice little moment last time they were together. So now that Nate's dead, David gets the nasty old prick version of his father who used to visit his brother? That doesn't seem fair.

Keith's getting the kids ready to go. Problem: Durrell's new suit pants are too long, even with the waistband up where it's supposed to be as opposed to where the kids are wearing them these days. Keith, busy tying Anthony's bow tie, says they need to drop off a plot point at the Pasqueasel's on their way to the funeral. Keith agrees to get Durrell's pants hemmed on the way, but only if they leave right now. Durrell rolls his eyes and goes to get his shoes.