“Ravishing Blackfoot woman seeks virile Indigenous man,” Mimi calls out from the tub. “Must have newer pickup and his own teeth. Steady employment a plus. Likes travel and adventure, pizza and hot dogs. Smoking and drinking are turnoffs.”

Mimi paddles the water. Little ripples form and break against the sides of the tub. “Okay, your turn.”

“I don’t want a turn.”

There’s no food left from this morning, so I’ll probably have to go out and find something to eat.

“What would yours sound like?”

“What?”

“Your personal ad,” says Mimi. “If you put a personal ad in the paper, what would it say?”

“I wouldn’t put a personal ad in the paper.”

“None of us would,” says Mimi, “but if you did . . .”

“I still wouldn’t do it.”

“Broken-down Cherokee photojournalist wishes to share his life with beautiful Blackfoot woman,” says Mimi. “Or beat-to-shit Greek photojournalist wishes to share his life with beautiful Blackfoot woman. Which one do you like?”

“Broken down? Beat-to-shit? Really?”

“Okay. ‘Senior.’”

“What’s your point?”

“Here we are,” says Mimi. “You on the toilet, me in a warm tub. This is life, Bird. This is our life. This is our life right now.”

When Mimi gets out of the tub, she is all brown and wrinkly. It is not an attractive look, and while I enjoy her naked, I don’t object when she gets into her clothes.

“Don’t throw the paper out,” she tells me.

“We’ve already read it.”

“Nothing wrong with reading a newspaper twice,” says Mimi. “You always miss something the first time through.”

It’s evening now, and I can feel my blood sugars beginning to drop. “I need to eat.”

“What about me?” says Mimi. “I didn’t have breakfast.”

“You had a banana and that pastry.”

“And I didn’t have lunch, either.”

The light has softened. In another hour or so, it will be dusk. If we go out now, I won’t need my sunglasses.

“How are you feeling?”

“We’re in Prague, Bird,” says Mimi. “We didn’t come all the way to Prague to stay in a hotel room.”

“Oz thinks we should make up a story about Uncle Leroy.”

“Make up a story?”

“Sure,” I say. “We could tell your mother that we found out that Uncle Leroy was injured in an accident in Prague, that he met a woman, got married, had a bunch of children, and died a happy man.”

Mimi looks skeptical. “Okay,” she says. “So what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“In this story. How was he injured?”

“He fell off a horse.”

“What was his wife’s name?”

“We’d have to make one up.”

“Maybe you should ask this Oz,” says Mimi. “Since it’s his idea.”

“I’m just telling you what he said.”

“And why would we do this?”