Frankie: You smell that?
Mike: I'm telling you, something's dead in this car. It goes away in the winter, but it reactivates in the summer.
Frankie: No, no. The grass, Mike. Fresh-cut grass.
Mike: If it's fresh-cut, you know it's not ours.
Frankie: Doesn't it just take you back, though? That's it right there. You know, it's just that thing, that feeling of summer that you can't describe, you know, "this." [sighs] We should have an amazing summer, Mike. Let's have an amazing summer.
Mike: Yes, let's, my darling. With our travel budget of whatever's in the couch cushions, the world is our oyster.
Frankie: Ugh. It's not just about money, Mike. I mean, don't you remember summer as a kid? Going to drive-in movies, playing ghost in the graveyard till your folks called you inside?
Mike: Oh, yeah. That was a real summer.
Frankie: Yeah.
Mike: I could kill a whole day just smacking a tennis ball against the house and lying on my back, in the yard, doing this... [uses a blade of grass as a whistle]
Frankie: Love that. Still can't do that.
Mike: Ah, it's not hard, Frankie. It's all in the thumbs. You gotta use your thumbs.