“Ian Kabra rolled up his window. "My god, what's that smell?"Behind the wheel, Sinead laughed. "It's called fresh air. Growing up in London, you've probably never breathed it before.""And I hope I never breathe it again.”

“I pop a cassette into the Buick's stereo. It's the Ramones. I turn the volume up high and roll down the windows. The highway air tastes of fumes, but it still feels goddamn good to breathe”

“The morning wind spreads its fresh smell. We must get up and take that in, that wind that lets us live. Breathe before it's gone.”

“I feel like I’m holding my breath all the time, never knowing when my lungs will just give up. The air we’re supposed to breathe is up above – I can feel it.”

“Smell my exhaust, fire boy.” Mason said. He rolled up the window and pulled in front of us. I laughed at his license plate, it read: TEMPTER.”

“The computer beeped as the upload completed. A moment later, Ian Kabra appeared on the screen.Dan was surprised. "Hey, Ian, isn't it, like, two in the morning back there?""It's called jet lag," Ian informed him. "I'm still on London time. I don't suppose you savages have any tea in this mausoleum.""There's a diet Snapple in the fridge."Ian shuddered. "I thought not.”