Ooh, Too Raved, Page 207.

I tried to ignore Hattie's conversation with Charmagne as we continued along our route -- first to the park, then the mall, then another mall -- but the pathology of her injury was too fascinating: the way the rot was systematically moving through her vocabulary, infecting words, leaving them shapeless lumps. Her mother was a thing. The bus stop was a thing. The world was a thing. I was a thing.