Some sample dialogue from the Precinct 20 story I'm writing on:
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They went to the local McDonald’s. She ordered a burger, salad and coffee; he ordered three Filet’O Fish, salad, a mug of coffee and ice cream.
“Your stomach must be made of pig-iron,” she remarked as Garris began to eat.
“You’re not scolding me for eating after a colleague just died?”
“I think you’re into comfort food. You didn’t drink much at the party.”
“So what’s your vice?” he said, and gulped down the last bite of his first fish burger.
Her face froze momentarily. Then, with a wry smile: “I’d never tell a colleague.”
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Yes, I know people don't talk like that in real life. But kitchen-sink realism can only get a story so far.
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