Jax thinks he knows how, and his retirement plan looks very similar to Clay's: Ride out this new guns deal with the Irish Kings, get a big enough payday, then ... who knows? Tara asks how long Jax plans to ride this out, adding, "More guns means more risk." Jax throws his hands up and says, "I don't have any skills, Tara. I'm an OK mechanic with a GED. The only thing I ever did well was outlaw. I just need to make some bank, set myself up with something --" This is where Tara cuts in and reminds Jax that as a hotshot surgeon, she is raking in the bucks. (And is presumably unencumbered by student loans? Lucky MD.) Jax objects with, "I'm not going to live off my wife," and while this would have been an excellent opening for pointing out that running a household and raising two small boys is not a job for the fainthearted -- and indeed, would probably speak to Jax's skill set -- Tara figures that one major Jax Teller attitude adjustment per scene is enough, and if he's talking about leaving the club, she'll call it a win and return to the "Stay at Home Dad: It's A Great Way To Support Your Family, Really" argument at a later date.

Jax says, "Clay's hands are going. His days are numbered. When he steps down, he loses sway. That's when I get out. And Gemma ... she's just an old lady. You've got to trust me. This is all I've been thinking about for the last fourteen months. I'm going to finish up with SAMCRO, and we're going to take our boys, and we're going to get the hell out of here. Start fresh somewhere, be a real family." So here's the thing that intrigues me: Jax's pitch to Tara is eerily reminiscent of the pitch he made to Stahl. The idea of Jax Teller breaking free of SAMCRO clearly has some currency with people -- is Jax aware of that and using it to his advantage? Anyway, Jax figures the pitch works on Tara and moves to kiss her. We see that Tara's still looking skeptical about the whole idea.

Since Clay and Gemma don't have it in them to do a whole lot of agonizing over their futures, Clay's already bounced out of bed and headed out to see Unser at his dilapidated Airstream. We get the full-body shot of Unser when he greets Clay, and if the holey t-shirt was bad news before, the baggy, frayed pajama pants and sprung slippers are even worse. The two men hug, and then Unser offers Clay a beer; the other man declines and they sit outside. We get a shot of Unser's truck from his hauling business, and Unser explains that he sold a controlling interest in the business -- "I get a check every month. Enough to keep me in the lifestyle I'm ... accustomed to." For Clay, who has suddenly developed a close personal interest in how people finance their retirements, this is not bad news. Unser says drily, "I assume you're caught up on the growth and prosperity of our little burg." Clay says that he did, then met the new sheriff on his way in, and my, it seems to stick in Clay's craw that here in the 21st century, people who are not of Anglo-Saxon descent are in positions of authority and power. "Town's upside down, Wayne," Clay says. Unser concurs: "I'm not sure which cancer's worse. The one in me, or the one in Charming?" Clay launches the Unser rehab project with "You rotting away here isn't helping either one." Unser protests that it doesn't hurt as much if he's unplugged, and Clay lays on the tough love: "You're going to have to plug yourself back in because I need you. I ain't going to let Hale win. There ain't gonna be no Charming Heights." Unser's intrigued. And he's now on board. He'll be lending Clay a catering truck this evening. "What's it for?" Unser asks. "Wedding shit," Clay replies. You know, if the town does go upscale, Clay and the boys can always reinvent themselves as lo-fi wedding planners. They have a certain approach to the event that's refreshingly free of drama.