rooting through the trash for a smokable piece of lint
No more throwing the Material away and then half an hour later rooting through the trash, no more all-fours scrutiny of the carpet in hopes of a piece of lint that looks enough like the Material to try to smoke.
Context
The behavior at the bottom of the love-affair, catalogued as the things there'll be "no more" of and then enacted anyway that same morning: the discarded Material fished back out of the trash, the carpet scrutinized on all fours for a lint that might be smokable, the used filter-panties and scrubbing-pad scraps burned for their resins. The discard-and-retrieve loop of the compulsion, run down to smoking the acetate she'd strained the solution through, weeping like a grotesque clown.