"Go ahead," Sam said, although she was already trying to adjust on her own. Sam had a lot of weird places, but touch really wasn't one of them. Truth to tell, she sort of craved it. Probably some hangover from being passed around like a rotten salami as a baby, or some other shit.

...rotten salami? Where the fuck had that come from?

She really needed to try getting some sleep.

"So," she said, to take her mind off of the painful simile, "is this the sort of skill you picked up in mercenary school?"