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“That鈥檚 sweet. Nice of you.鈥� Johnson put his hands in his pockets. Dove couldn鈥檛 help but wonder if he was massaging a sore bag of testicles. Dove looked around, and Johnson shuffled his feet. It seemed neither knew what to say, but she hoped neither wanted to part ways either.

Johnson鈥檚 default was always medical.

鈥淗ow鈥檚 your infection?鈥�

Die. Die. Kill me.

鈥淚t鈥檚鈥� cleared up鈥� nicely.鈥� Dove twisted her hand into her hair.”
― Debra Anastasia, Fire in the Hole