She'd never in her whole life bunked school, smoked dope, or kissed a boy whose name she didn't know, and yet in the last few days, she'd done all these things.

Her skin tasted expensive.

And in bed, deep inside the building, are all the headaches that won't go away. The failed kidneys, the rashes, the ragged-edged moles, the lumps on the breast, the coughs that have turned nasty. In the Marie Curie Ward on the fourth floor are the kids with cancer. Their bodies secretly and slowly being consumed. And then there's the mortuary, where the dead lie in refrigerated drawers with name tags on their feet.

Keep breathing. Just keep doing it. It's easy. In and out.

All I know is that I have two choices – stay wrapped in blankets and get on with dying, or get the list back together and get on with living.

Do you want this to be a love story?

That slow smile again. I love that smile! DId I think he was ugly just now? No, his face is transformed.