‘Not all of it’, I say, holding onto my flowers. ‘Then, how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?’ he says. ‘I don’t know. The closer we get to district twelve, the more confused I get’ I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming.
‘Well, let me know when you work it out.’ he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.