“Okay.” She rubs her face against his, her hands don't work very well right now. Lee would like to sit up but every time she tries, she gets dizzy. She wasn't kidding about being sick. Later, Lee will be upset that she was out of commission for so long, she missed most of the early action, helpless. When she was finally lucid enough to ask for Michael, the Village had grown quiet; it's been raining all day. Already, people are muttering about more protests. More action. This time nobody is going to take this lying down.
“I don't feel good.” Her clothes are dirty. Someone cleaned the blood off her head — the tiny, insignificant gash on the back of her head had bled an impressive amount, pouring out like a fountain and leaving a frightening stain on the concrete — but she doesn't have anything else to wear. The idea of going back to the Chelsea, or even to Michael's apartment where she has a few spares, is unbearable.