Sadly, Hummina.

"Va va voom," the man explains, displaying a worn photograph of his ex-wife, wiping the tears from the corner of his eye. He flattens the photo delicately between his nicotine stained fingers. The fold down its middle bisects the woman in the photograph from ponytail to upper thigh; she bends to pick up a small plastic shovel from a suburban lawn. "One spicy tomato," I agree, desperately wishing for this conversation to be over. "Awoooooga."