Then I Dive Into My Tent Before

They're A Little Strange, But I'm Pretty Sure Neither Of Them Is Going To Try To Make Me Uncomfortable By Stripping Naked.

What Must It Be Like, I Wonder, To Live In A World Where Food Appears At The Press Of A Button? How Would I Spend The Hours I Now Commit To Combing The Woods For Sustenance If It Were So Easy To Come By? What Do They Do All Day, These People In The Capitol, Besides Decorating Their Bodies And Waiting Around For A New Shipment Of Tributes To Rill In And Die For Their Entertainment?

Since Mags Seems To Have No Ill Effects From The Nuts, Peeta Collects Bunches Of Them And Fries Them By Bouncing Them Off The Force Field.

It’s The Final Word In Camouflage. Forget Chucking Weights Around. Peeta Should Have Gone Into His Private Session With The Gamemakers And Painted Himself Into A Tree. Or A Boulder. Or A Muddy Bank Full Of Weeds.

Because It Doesn't Matter Anymore, And Because I'm So Desperately Lonely I Can't Stand It.