Thinking Like Your Prey. . . That's

As The Alcohol Overcomes My Mind, I Hear The Glass Bottle Shatter On The Floor. This Seems Appropriate Since I Have Obviously Lost My Grip On Everything.

Because I Can Count On My Fingers The Number Of Sunsets I Have Left, And I Don't Want To Miss Any Of Them.

I'm Trying To Think Of A Witty Comeback, When Boggs Says Brusquely, “well, Don't Expect Us To Be Too Impressed. We Just Saw Finnick Odair In His Underwear.” I Decide To Go Ahead And Like Boggs.

I Don't Have A Talent, Unless You Count Hunting Illegally, Which They Don't. Or Maybe Singing, Which I Wouldn't Do For The Capitol In A Million Years. My Mother Tried To Interest Me In A Variety Of Suitable Alternatives From A List Effie Trinket Sent Her. Cooking, Flower Arranging, Playing The Flute. None Of Them Took, Although Prim Had A Knack For All Three. Finally Cinna Stepped In And Offered To Help Me Develop My Passion For Designing Clothes, Which Really Required Development Since It Was Non-existent.

Allow Me To Translate, Twitchtip Said, Not Even Bothering To Move. "she Said If You Don't Stop Your Incessant Babble, That Big Rat Sitting In The Boat Next To You Will Rip Your Head Off.