rooting through the trash for a smokable piece of lint — "smoking first the Chore Boy-scrap she’d…"
smoking first the Chore Boy-scrap she’d used to trap the vapors and form a smokable resin, then bits of the carpet and the acetate panties she’d filtered the solution through hours earlier, weeping and veilless and yarn-haired, like some grotesque clown
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.