Fortunately for these two, there just so happens to be a perfectly flat, wide-open meadow nearby, where they can play catch in peace before a photographically interesting background. You know, as opposed to the usual dust storms, killer coal mines, towns filled with Opie-looking rapists, horny zombies, and dead cooch dancers hanging from trees that the carnies usually like to surround themselves with. Sofie throws like a girl, by the way. It's so bad, in fact, that Jonesy tries to psych her up by relating an old trick from "back when [he] used to hurl." Which is probably an unfortunate choice of terminology, given that I just referenced the reason we all saw him hurl three weeks ago. At any rate, his suggestion is that she picture the face of someone she really hates in the catcher's mitt. "Let's see, who could that be," he asks, bringing the mitt up to stare into it. "Oh, yeah. Hi Momma." Heh. Sofie giggles a bit, and Jonesy further observes that "for a body that don't talk, she sure do got a lot to say." You have no idea, Jonesy. But at least he didn't call her a rutabaga. Sofie sadly confesses that Mommatose doesn't like any of her friends, which prompts Jonesy to look worried and ask if there are any exceptions to that rule. "Well there is you, of course," replies Sofie. "She's got a mind you walk on water." Oh, I think we all know that "walking" isn't really what Jonesy like to do with water. Jiggle, jiggle. Sofie does add that Mommatose ain't too fond of Libby, and Jonesy does a horrible job of concealing the fact that he agrees with that notion wholeheartedly. He stumbles through a ridiculous attempt to cover this obvious flirtation faux pas, but it's no use. Sofie stomps off in a huff, and poor Jonesy is left to pick up her glove and stare at her rapidly receding backside. In fact, he's so mad at himself here that he actually forgets to spit.