"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Cesar encouragingly.
"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning. . . won't help in my case," says Peeta.
"Why ever not?" says Cesar, mystified.
Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. "Because. . . because. . . she came here with me."
tourist:
could you give us directions to Olive Garden?
new yorker:
no, but i could give you directions to an actual Italian restaurant lol
tourist:
oh you think your clever???
new yorker:
what
tourist:
i'm going to meet my dying neice and she happens to love olive garden so her whole family is going to eat with her so she'll have a few moments of happiness
new yorker:
oh... oh god i'm so sor
tourist:
no shut the fuck up you piece of shit. i'll find it myself
the tourist drives off and the new yorker is left to think about his life choices and his decision to be a giant condescending asshole