A greasy spatula presses sausages onto the grill. The boys all stand around smoking and drinking and exchanging knowing looks while Artie mourns the loss of his restaurant aloud ("Fucking faulty stove!"), and Tony tells Artie just to collect the insurance and move on, and Paulie tells Artie to remind himself that it "could have been worse." "How could it have been worse?" Artie wants to know, which prompts an outburst from Christopher: "Suppose people stopped coming to the restaurant, you ever think of that?" The boys stare at him. "I don't know, I don't know what the fuck," he snaps, and stalks off, probably back to left field from whence he came. Artie shoots Tony a "the hell?" look, and Tony says, "He's right, you know, there's no insurance for that." Artie keeps bemoaning the late Vesuvio. Tony tells him that hope helps, and that hope comes in many forms, and the boys all agree with him, but Artie starts weeping into a barbecue apron. Tony comforts him, telling him he'll always help him out.