“The wind funnelled down the covered platform, jostling the passengers and tearing at their clothes. A woman's scarf whipped by overhead, somersaulting as if intoxicated by the sudden taste of freedom.”
“She was flushed and felt intoxicated with the sound of her own voice and the unaccustomed taste of candor. It muddled her like wine, or like a first breath of freedom.”
“All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.”
“There’s only one piece of clothing I could eat fast, and that’s a scarf.”
“I could almost hear the characters inside, murmuring and jostling, impatient for me to open the cover and let them out.”
“I know everything tastes better with whip cream.”