"What you're saying," he says, mock-serious, "is maybe I am a true cowboy." He flicks his big black hat up by the brim, raises his beer in toast, and intones gravely: "Yeehaw."

John drinks long enough to let this very stupid pronouncement ring, then clicks his beer back down. He tips his head to her in agreement.

"Gives us the broad shape of things, I guess, if only by process of elimination. Somewhere to start."