Dave had a terrible fever. I dropped by to bring him soup, and found him chattering and clammy. He had made a cardboard puppet he was creepily talking through. He was deliriously intense about trying to get his fever broken, but when he sat up he got nauseous.
me: "How is sitting?"
D: "It's good! It's in my top three. … and I'm sweating, so that's good."
me: "Is it? I don't think it is."
…
D: "Come on, sweat dammit! Sweat!"
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