“I picked up a new language a few months ago. It was just laying on the ground, dirty, so I scooped it up and popped it in my mouth.”

“I saw the crown of France laying on the ground, so I picked it up with my sword.”

“Idiot," I said, before grinning broadly and crushing his mouth to mine. "We need to pick new pet names for each other," he muttered as I hefted myself up from the ground.”

“I'm miles from where you are. I lay down on the cold ground, and I pray that something picks me up, and sets me down in your warm arms.”

“It's too early for there to be any coffee. I stare dully at the empty pot in the common room, while Sam picks up a jar of instant grounds."Don't," I warn him.He scoops up a heaping spoonful and, heedlessly, shovels it into his mouth. It crunches horribly. Then his eyes go wide."Dry," he croaks. "Tongue...shriveling."I shake my head, picking up the jar. "It's dehydrated. You're supposed to add water. Good thing you're mostly made of water."He tries to say something. Brown powder dusts his shirt."Also," I tell him, "that's decaf.”

“I unscrewed the cap and brought the purple-lined rim to my mouth. Then I almost hacked up a lung. Madeline remained motionless as I struggled for breath.'So what part of this is supposed to be fun?' I asked. 'Just relax,' she said. 'You can't rush the feeling. It takes a few minutes for the alcohol to take effect.' [...] She sat up and picked up the bottle. 'You having fun yet?''Of course. Can't you tell from my labored breathing and the look of pain on my face?”