"Can you speak more about that?" he leads, nudging with his eyebrows. She's drifted again, sucking on her dental bridge and lost in a ziploc bag of tobacco. "Diane. You said it's better than before...?"
Diane is worrying her rolled cigarette into dust. Muttering that she should never have accepted the Persian rug. She has spoken of little else in group the past two weeks, the thought of cleaning it and destroying a hidden stash. The stash she'll need when her daughter visits. The stash she's sure must still be there.
"Diane..." he exhales again, studying a crack of sleep on the tip of his middle finger.
"There were several befores. Which one do you want me to address?" she relents, breaking character into certain lucidity.
