Bokelskere.no

"Listen, a girl's not a watermelon you plug a hole in to see if it's sweet."

In Madeleine's face was a stupidity Mitchell had never seen before. It was the stupidity of all normal people. It was the stupidity of the fortunate and beautiful, of everybody who got what they wanted in life and so remained unremarkable.

[S]he joined Kelly at the drinks table, which was lined with Jim Beam bottles, Oreo cookies, glasses, and ice.

"Two coffees please," Madeleine said, smiling. "And my husband would like some apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese on top."

They went to a café for breakfast. Leonard was on his best behavior, pulling out her chair, buying her a Paris Match from the newsstand, offering her a brioche from the basket.

The speed with which he left the railways office and went about buying provisions for his trip was like that of someone making a getaway. He bought bottled water, mandarins, a chocolate bar, a package of biscuits, and a hunk of strangely crumbly cheese. He still ahdn't had lunch, so he stopped at a restaurant for a bowl of vegetable curry and parathi.

Throughout this discussion Mitchell busied himself with buttering toast and dropping cubes of raw sugar into his teacup. It was important to scarf down as much toast as possible before the waiters stopped serving.

The restaurant on the corner, catering to backpacker tastes, served banana pancakes and hamburgers made from water buffalo.

"Saltwater taffy is always pastel," he commented. "Why is that?"

This time Heidi didn't respond at all.

"You know what I think it is, Heidi? I think pastels are the palette of the seashore. I'll take these pastel green ones, which are the color of dune grass, and I'll take some pink ones, which are like the sun setting on the water. And I'll take these white ones, which are like the sea foam, and these yellow ones, which are like the sun on the sand."

He brought all four bags to the counter, then decided to atke a few other flavors. Buttercream. Chocolate. Strawberry.

At a resturant across the street Mitchell ordered a carafe of restina and a plate of feta cheese and olives, not even trying to speak a few words of Greek, just pointing.