"Yeah, well, I just risked getting chewed out by the nurse at the front desk for this. Don't be a dick," I countered, tearing the plastic from the orange and handing it over without waiting for him to choose. I tore the plastic off the red and stuck it in my mouth, figuring he'd probably need a demonstration how to eat something like that. "The red's cherry," I said, "but it's mostly dye and sugar, so yeah, it tastes like a color."

At his skeptical look, I sighed, "It's cold and your mouth's probably like fucking sandpaper. Just trust me."

I took a bite from my popsicle, crunching ice for a moment before going back to his earlier question: "You don't have to die to come here. I'm not dead. At least, I don't think."