"Hey, Mark," Jan said, as she opened the door. "You know there's this new thing they've invented. They're called doorbells. You use them instead of knocking."

"What? Oh yeah, sorry. Me and Roger don't have one of those. We need to update our pad."

Jan laughed. "Well if you're still calling it a pad, you REALLY need to update it."

Mark shrugged. "Pad, Schmad. Can I come in?"

"Of course." She opened the door wider for him so he could step inside.

"Did you have breakfast yet?"

"I had an English muffin."

"Ooh. Tasty."

Mark shrugged. "What can I say, I eat like a bird." He walked over to the nearest chair and parked himself on it. "So tomorrow's The Well Hungarian's gig."

"I heard."

"You want to go together?"

"You really have to ask, Mark?" Jan smiled at him.

Mark chuckled.

"How'd they get a name like that anyway?"

"I have no idea. I remember we were just hanging around in the loft, and all of a sudden Roger sat up and said, 'Eureka! I've got it!'"

Jan raised her eyebrow. "He really said that?"

"Well no . . . but anyway, that's the name he came up with. Still have no idea where the hell it came from."

"Well, all bands have weird names. You've got the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Bangles."

"So I see you like B's and hippie music?" Mark implored.

Jan laughed. "It's not hippie music, Mark."

"Is too."

"Do you even know what a hippie is?"

"It's someone who goes around listening to old boy bands with bad hair cuts."

"Not exactly. Where's my dictionary?" Jan said, as she walked over to the bookshelf hanging above the counter.

"Here we go . . . Hippie," she read, "A person who opposes and rejects many of the conventional standards and customs of society, especially one who advocates extreme liberalism in sociopolitical attitudes and lifestyles."

"That's not a hippie," Mark said, once Jan had closed the book. "That's an anarchist."

"Same thing."

"Well, I'm an anarchist, and I don't listen to Hippie music."

Jan sighed. "For the last time, Mark, the Beatles weren't hippies!"

"You want a bet? Let's see the definition of a 'Beatle,'" Mark said, reopening the dictionary to a random page.

"Beatle. One who has a terrible bowl-cut hair style, plays hippie music, and has hippie friends and band mates. Occasionally decorate their wardrobes in flowers and hearts." He closed the book and tossed it to Jan. "Beat that. No pun intended."

"You're such a dork," Jan said, hiding a smile.

"Well, yeah."

"Are the Well Hungarians Hippies?"

"Not that I know of. Except Matt maybe. He plays the acoustic guitar. He's got something crazy going on with his hair. But then again, so does Roger."

Jan sighed and settled herself onto his lap. "Let's stop politicizing, okay?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Mark grinned.

"You wanna do something?"

"Sure."

"What?"

"Do you want to go to St. Mark's?"

"Why? You need new scarf?" Jan teased.

"Nah." Mark picked up his camera. "I like to film around there."

"Well in that cast, let me get my Polaroid before we go," Jan winked at him, as she hopped up from his lap to grab her camera.

She returned a few moments later, dressed and camera in hand.

"Ready?" she asked him.

"Ready."

***

"Oh, Mark, I love it here," Jan gushed, as they walked by many "Salespeople" trying to sell them various items. Only a moment ago, a woman had walked up to Mark offering him a Vibrator.

"You should have gotten it," Jan had joked.

"Nah, I've got plenty back home," he'd replied, wrapping his arms around her.

"Fur coat?" a bag lady now yelled out to Jan as they passed her.

Jan stopped. "Is that real fur?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Helllllll no, girl. Where would I find something as fancy as that? Besides, if it were, I'd be keepin it for myself." She picked the coat back up, holding it out towards them. "Wanna try it on?"

"Sure," Jan said, sliding her arms through the sleeves.

Mark smothered a laugh as he watched Jan slink around in the coat. She looked like a Russian immigrant.

"How much?" she asked the lady, to Mark's surprise.

"Gimme thirty."

"Twenty."

"Twenty-Five."

"Deal." Jan fished into her pocket for her wallet, and handed her a crinkled twenty dollar bill.

"Thanks, honey. You wear that coat well, ya hear?"

"I will. Thanks," Jan smiled. She hooked her arm through Mark's as they continued to walk down the alley.

"Why'd you buy that?" Mark asked, frowning.

"Why? You don't think it's hot?" Jan laughed. "I felt bad because when I stopped to look at it, she thought I was going to buy it. I didn't want to just walk away from it. Besides, it'll be an early Christmas present for my mother."

Mark shook his head. "You might just be the most generous person I know. I just hope you don't go broke from buying everything everyone's selling."

"I won't," Jan assured him.

They walked by a man selling rip-off copies of books.

"Well, here's something worth getting," Mark said, picking up a book. "A tale of two . . . WHAT? A tale of two titties???"

"Can't you read?" the man grunted, pointing to the sign.

Mark looked at the sign again and saw that in light pencil, someone had scrawled 'SPOOFED copies.'

"Well, that's real noticeable," Mark mumbled, as Jan laughed. "I'll take it."

Mark paid for the book, and he and Jan continued onwards, holding their sides from laughing.

"You're not gonna really read that, are you?" Jan choked.

"No," he giggled. "I'll give it to Roger."

"Hypocrite," she teased.

"What?"

"You said you shouldn't buy something just because it's offered to you."

Mark shrugged. "There are some acceptions."

"Well, if you put it THAT way."

Mark smirked and leaned over to kiss on the lips.

The two of them were silent for a moment, pressed against each other. Then Jan pulled away.

"People are looking," she murmured.

"So?" he whispered, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"I don't know." She shrugged.

Mark took his camera out from his inner coat pocket and slowly panned across St. Mark's.

"Zoom on Jan's beautiful face," he murmured.

"Stop," she laughed, hiding her face behind her sleeve.

"You are," he told her, pulling her hand away.

"Whatever," she mumbled, leaning against him. "You ready to go home?"

"You wanna leave already?"

"No, but my ankle's starting to hurt again."

"You want to lean against me?"

"Okay."

Jan held onto Mark's arm as they made their way home.

"Let's go to the loft," she said, as she snuggled up against him.

"Alright," he said.

Slowly, they trudged home.

***

"PEPPER! PEPPER WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" Collins was shouting, as Mark and Jan neared the apartment.

"What happened?" Mark asked, frowning.

"This damned dog. She ran off and now she's hiding behind a car or something. Pepper!" he called, "If you want something to eat tonight, you better get your ass out here right now!"

"That's not the way you get a dog to come to you, Collins," Jan laughed.

She knelt down on her knees and whistled sharply. "Pepper? Come, sweetie. Daddy's looking for you."

Sure enough, Pepper came scrambling from behind a garbage can, dragging her leash behind her.

Mark and Collins watched, amazed, as Jan cooed to the dog.

"Who's a good girl? You are, yes," she cooed.

"How'd you get her to come to you?" Collins asked.

"Well," Jan said, "Would you answer to someone threatening to beat your ass if you didn't come home, or someone who was loving and compassionate?"

"Good point," said Collins, taking the neon pink leash from Jan. "I swear, you're going to be the end of me, girl," he said to Pepper.

Pepper yipped.

"See this is why me and Frankie aren't ready for kids yet," Collins sighed. "I can barely look after a dog."

"You're just learning," said Jan. "You'll get better."

Collins shrugged. "I guess so. But you don don't have to take a kid outside every morning on a leash to take a dump, do you?"

"It depends," Jan said, and Mark laughed.

"Well then. We'll see about you, my furry friend," he said to Pepper.

Pepper turned her head at Collins, questioningly, and lifted her leg to pee on an old tire on the ground beside her.

"Babies don't do that, do they?" Collins asked Mark.

"I wouldn't know," Mark said.

"Oh well. Well, we'll see you two later? Tomorrow at the gig?"

"We'll see you there," said Mark.

"Okay. Bye."

Collins watched as Mark and Jan left.

"They make a cute couple, don't they?" he asked Pepper.

Pepper barked.

"Shut up."

***

"Hey, baby," Mimi got up from the couch as Roger entered the Loft. She walked over to him and stood on her toes to give him a kiss on the lips. "How was practice?"

"It was alright," Roger said, wrapping his arms around Mimi's waist and pulling her towards him.

"Was it really?"

"Well Chad forgot to take his Midol. But he's really antsy about the gig because he's going to propose to Karmine tomorrow."

Mimi raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really."

"I hardly ever see Karmine," Mimi commented.

Roger shrugged. "Well if they're ready to be married then they must see each other a lot."

"We see each other a lot," Mimi said, a small smile coming over her face.

Roger laughed, nervously. "You think I'm ready to be a groom?"

"You'd look pretty sexy and a tux."

"Thanks. You wouldn't look to shabby in a veil yourself."

"Thanks, baby."

"No problem." He kissed her on the ear. "So, you have any plans?"

Mimi shook her head. "No, I've got a free afternoon."

"So do I," he said, grinning wickedly.

Mimi quirked an eyebrow. "You hinting at something?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay, you win," she laughed.

"Yay!" Roger scooped Mimi into his arms, and walked into the bedroom, dropping her down onto the other side of the bed.

"You're in a good mood," Mimi said as Roger tugged at her foot, trying to pull off her sock.

"Why shouldn't I be? I've got all the time in the world for my girlfriend, I've got a gig coming up tomorrow. Everything's dandy."

"Dandy?" Mimi said, as Roger struggled with her socks. "Since when do you use that word?"

"Since now," he said. "Jesus Christ, Mimi, did you glue these to your feet?"

He stood up on the bed and yanked her feet, pulling Mimi up as well.

"Stop!" she giggled, as he began to tickle her feet. She squirmed out of her socks and balled them up, tossing them at Roger's face.

Roger picked them up and put them in his mouth, waggling his eyebrows, pretending to be holding a rose between his teeth.

"Gross, Roger, I put those on my feet," Mimi complained.

"What? It's a new theme. Yesterday was Shakespeare. Today's Tango."

"You're a retard," Mimi declared.

"Am not." He reached over and pushed her shirt up, and began to tickle her stomach.

"ROGER!'

"Yes, Miss Marquez?" he asked, as Mimi squirmed underneath him.

"You bastard," Mimi cried, giggling.

"Say Uncle."

"What? No!" she choked, as he began tickling her sides.

"Say it."

"Uncle! Now stop, you pervert!"

"You win," Roger said, giving her a final poke in her navel.

Mimi sat up, gasping for breath.

"You're . . . such a dork," she gasped, unable to hide a smile.

Roger smiled. "I know you are, but what am I?"

Mimi giggled. Then she became serious for a moment. "Roger, I talked to Isabella about visiting my mom tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What about the gig?"

"In the morning, not the night."

"Oh." He paused. "What about Joel?"

"Isabella said his work hour starts at eight and ends at six in the evening. That would give me a lot of time to spend with my mother."

"Okay."

"You'll come with me, right?"

"Of course I will. Do you really have to ask?"

Mimi shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure."

Roger kissed her on the cheek. "So, we're going to La Casa De Marquez?"

"Si. Good Spanish, by the way," Mimi laughed.

"It's my second language."

"Mierda del toro."

"What?"

"Bullshit."

Roger laughed. "You don't believe me?"

"Nope."

"Oh well. Haven't spoken it in ages, anyway."

Mimi rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, you know what they say," Roger said, pulling her down beside him, "You Panamanians DO have more fun!"

a/n: Okay, that last line was Corny. Coming up soon: Mimi reunites with her madre, and someone else, the gig, Maureen's gallery, and more! Reviews are almost as fun as the Bang-Bang Theory!