Coke Float Quotes

I should have mixed something stronger than Coke floats.

He uncovered the boat, his hands working the knots like he'd been doing it his whole life. Under the tarp was an old steel rowboat with no oars. The boat had been painted dark blue at one point, but the hull was so crusted with tar and salt it looked like one massive nautical bruise. On the bow, the name Pax was still readable, lettered in gold. Painted eyes drooped sadly at the water level, as if the boat were about to fall asleep. On board were two benches, some steel wool, an old cooler, and a mound of frayed rope with one end tied to the mooring. At the bottom of the boat, a plastic bag and two empty Coke cans floated in several inches of scummy water. "Behold," Frank said. "The mighty Roman navy.

The ice cream slows down your digestion. The coke settles your stomach and the caffeine cures your headache. Sugar gives you energy

The dining table was covered with platters of food: everything and pumpernickel bagels, everything minibagels, everything flagels, bialys, cream cheese, scallion cream cheese, salmon spread, tofu spread, smoked and pickled fish, pitch-black brownies with white chocolate swirls like square universes, blondies, rugelach, out-of-season hamantaschen (strawberry, prune, and poppy seed), and “salads”—Jews apply the word salad to anything that can’t be held in one’s hand: cucumber salad, whitefish and tuna and baked salmon salad, lentil salad, pasta salad, quinoa salad. And there was purple soda, and black coffee, and Diet Coke, and black tea, and enough seltzer to float an aircraft carrier, and Kedem grape juice—a liquid more Jewish than Jewish blood. And there were pickles, a few kinds. Capers don’t belong in any food, but the capers that every spoon had tried to avoid had found their way into foods in which they really didn’t belong, like someone’s half-empty half-decaf. And at the center of the table, impossibly dense kugels bent light and time around them. It was too much food by a factor of ten. But it had to be.

Fortunately I never came to enjoy the effect of heroin for its own sake, but floating away on a silk pillow was infinitely nicer than grinding my teeth in a drunken, paranoid stupor at the end of a coke binge.

He found a can of coke. With nothing else to drink, this can would save him. On the ocean floor, at least the boat was no longer getting knocked around by the storm. All of that was still going on 100 feet above him. It was much quieter on the bottom of the ocean, and much darker. Everything was pitch black. Wearing just his underwear, Harrison was COLD. With the storm still raging, there was little hope for a rescue, but for some reason, Harrison decided that he wouldn’t give up. He would do his best to keep going. He had nothing to eat. He only had a small pocket of air to breathe. Eventually, that air would run out. As well as being both lucky and stubborn, Harrison was also quite clever. He swam through the darkness into the captain’s quarters to try and grab things that might float which would help him tread water. This was not easy to

What you need,'' he said, ''is an ice-cream float.'' ''You and your ice-cream floats.'' ''They work, I tell you. It's very scientific. Cold things are good for nausea and —'' ''Your're always saying that, Charles, but I just don't think it's true.'' ''Would you just listen to me for a second? The ice cream slows down your digestion. The Coke settles your stomach and the caffeine cures your headache. Sugar gives you energy. And besides, it makes you metabolize the alcohol faster. It's the perfect food.

scared. Like the doorman where she lived still not admitting to anyone else he was gay. Like the aunt who was conducting a secret pen friend affair with a lifer in prison. Mum used to say Alex had been born with the face of someone who’d signed a confidentiality agreement. Secrets were often seen as dark and deceptive, but sometimes they were simply sad truths that people tried to hide. Perhaps that had been the problem with her third book – readers had worked out that, secretly, her heart wasn’t in it. Her husband’s cheating was one factor that had pushed her to become an author, to forge an independent, successful existence. During the first year or two that followed, the series of her young lovers, a binge of light-hearted romance, had translated into two huge best-sellers, leaving readers clamouring for more of her heart-breaking heroes and arousing paragraphs. Trouble was, that binge eventually left Alex so sated that by the time she came to write the third novel, simply the word ‘romance’ turned her stomach. ‘Mum had been Dad’s life for so long, the two of them were each other’s school sweetheart, so the coffee shop became his life instead,’ Tom continued. ‘My mates loved this place. We’d pile in after school for Coke floats and they’d pester their parents to visit at the weekend. Slowly, by word of mouth, its fried breakfasts gained a reputation. Benedict Cumberbatch came in once when he studied drama at the university. We even served the

The scent of the steaming broth was exquisite. The bowl teemed with thick, fresh noodles, tender meat, a soft-boiled egg and green onion garnishes floating at the top. We sat down and clinked Coke bottles. "Kanpai," said Uncle Masa. "What's that mean?" "Cheers." I took my first spoonfuls. Cheers was right. "OH MY GOD!" I exclaimed. Uncle Masa misinterpreted my outburst. "Too spicy for you?" "Hardly! I can't believe how flavorful the broth is. And these noodles are so fresh. I've never had noodles so good.

What you need,'' he said, ''is an ice-cream float.'' ''You and your ice-cream floats.'' ''They work, I tell you. It's very scientific. Cold things are good for nausea and —'' ''You're always saying that, Charles, but I just don't think it's true.'' ''Would you just listen to me for a second? The ice cream slows down your digestion. The Coke settles your stomach and the caffeine cures your headache. Sugar gives you energy. And besides, it makes you metabolize the alcohol faster. It's the perfect food.