Overhead shot of a poker game; "My Girl" plays in the background. I hate that song. I know you'll all sleep better at night knowing that. [Cough.] Anyway, a short, balding guy goes to the door, checks the peephole, and lets in Mikey Palmice and two of his guys. Short Balding Guy says they came just in time, he's about to make coffee, and he asks after Junior. Mikey jumps on SBG, knocks him down, kicks him in the ribs a few times, and tells him as he lies writhing on the floor, "That's how Junior is, Sammy." Mikey has that fugly International Male beige cabled sweater on again. Man, I can't wait till he gets killed off so I don't have to look at that eyesore anymore, not to mention the thinning-hair-non-disguising blow-dry he's got going on. Sammy gasps that he's with Little Jimmy Altieri, and Mikey, all out of breath from waving his dick around, asks if Sammy's paying Jimmy Altieri "for this game." "No," Sammy wheezes. "Are you paying someone for this game? Huh?" Mikey wants to know, punctuating the question with another boot to Sammy's ribs. Mikey announces to the room at large that "the party's over -- Junior Soprano is the new boss, and he ain't respectin' old arrangements."

Junior at the tailor's, standing ramrod straight on the measuring block in a new shirt and jacket and a giant pair of old-man's boxers. The tailor tells Junior he's lucky; he stayed slim, so he can buy suits "right off the rack." Yeah, and how. Junior smiles that he wanted something special: "The boys are having a little time for me." Mikey, leafing through a magazine, asks if Junior's wearing a suit to the dinner; Junior snorts that "these guys today, they wanna be buried in a jogging outfit." Oh, God -- amen to that. I think that's what I like best about The Sopranos; they acknowledge these little things, these bits of received wisdom about the Mob. Anyway, Junior asks after the tailor's oldest son Ralphie; the tailor sighs that Ralphie lost his oldest son. "What do you mean, 'lost'?" Junior asks. Dead, the tailor says, getting upset: "Just -- just a fuckin' kid, a baby!" "Whoa whoa whoa, what're we talkin' about here -- you lost your grandson?" Junior asks, stepping down from the measuring block. The tailor rants angrily about these "fucking animals, these drug dealers," and Junior remembers that "that little kid used to run around here breakin' balls," and the tailor weeps, "Domenic…my namesake." Junior turns to Mikey and asks if he knew about this; Mikey shakes his head. Junior gets back up onto the block and asks rhetorically, "What'd I say about this fuckin' poison," and says how he reads in the paper all the time about kids overdosing, but the tailor interrupts to say that Domenic didn't overdose, "he killed himself -- fourteen years old." "Jesus!" grunts Junior. Mikey stands up: "Was this at Paterson Falls?" The tailor nods. "Holy shit, that was your grandson?" Mikey asks. "What?" Junior wants to know. Mikey tells the story: "The kid, he took one a those…designer drugs, right? Goes to the falls, takes a header right off the fence. They said the, the current whirled so much that his head was bashed on the rocks for days before he even came up." A born diplomat, that Mikey. Kee-rist. ["Is it wrong that my first thought was, 'How does a fourteen-year-old afford designer drugs?'" -- Wing Chun] Junior agrees with me and grimaces, holding up a hand to shut Mikey up: "Shhht!" The tailor laments that meanwhile, "this piece a shit, he gets to walk the streets and sell more a this stuff to young kids." Junior gets that furious beetle-browed look on his face: "Oh, really? What's this motherless fuck's name?"