“How does it taste?” Carter wondered.Zia smiled. “Stick out your tongue.”To answer Carter’s question, the tattoo tasted like burning car tires.“Ugh.” I spit a blue gob of “order and harmony” into the fountain.”

“And there, surrounded by death above and below, he sticks his tongue out and tastes the sweetness of life.”

“The taste of rotting, waxen oranges slid across my tongue, paying no attention to the fact that I was chewing on a wad of spearmint gum. Gran called it arrah-an aura. I was calling it danger candy nowadays. I always felt like spitting it out, but spitting would only make it worse.Plus, spitting on a dance floor is damn rude. I was raised better.”

“I hate that stuff. It tastes like feet."At that he smiled. "How would you know what feet taste like?""I just know.”

“Some women like to treat a man like a piece of bubble gum. The poor sap thinks everything’s fine. And it is—until the taste runs out. Then she’ll just spit him out the car window of her life and never look back.”

“Home. The word still tastes like sandpaper in my mouth. But it makes Mom smile—a tired, true smile—so it’s worth it.”