A flask with a glow-in-the-dark bead in it was shook like a server's bell and the bead made a little Tinker Bell noise.  The woman took a sip, then held it in her mouth, and took a swig of coffee.  She swallowed.  "Better?" A woman named Anastasia asked.  The woman shook her head side to side and the false eyelashes unstuck from her eyelids.  "Now I am." 

     She turned and offered me both.  I waved that off with my pen and notebook. "Now.  Where were we?" I assumed she was asking me about the interview. The other woman realized she meant her.  "Well," she put her butt against a field-type-portable desk and pointed soft slipper'd toes and hands with the finger tops cut off at a woodstove, "It's hard to say exactly," 

     "Why?" 

     Anastasia scooped a tea pot off the top of the woodstove and poured the steaming water over the coffee grounds.  The woman closed her eyes and smelled the air dreamily. She pulled a match out of a leather jacket pocket and struck it on the stovetop.  She'd produced a cigarillo to smoke and lit it so the small space would smell (i)like heaven on earth(i).  "So....you slept good?" 

     "Oh yes," the woman puffed an "O" that stayed complete until she stabbed at it with a pen and didn't quite cut it as much as sculpt it.  Then she casually accused Anastasia of saying, "I, was (i)up there(i)!?"