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.
