I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, & the aroma of my favourite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave. +
But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all but extinct - The Hunger Games, Chapter 2.