Haymitch Abernathy

"The interviews are tonight," Effie tells me. "You need to dress up."

'Dress up' is not my area of proficiency. I hate getting dolled up.

"What's the point? We both know that they'll be dead or close to it in forty-eight hours."

I am given a look that means Have some faith. But it's true. We have no chance. District 12 never has a chance. Being last has no absolutely advantages, from the self-serve bar to the Games.

I might as well try. I rummage through the closet and find a plain black suit.

It's better than nothing, I guess.