Imran was still in a state of shock, sitting on the tattered sofa staring emptily into space. When he and Rani returned home, they’d had to rouse a severely doped-up Sanjay to open the door. The place was a pigsty from Sanjay’s rolling with a wretched street girl he’d probably lured back to the house with the promise of opiate oblivion. Rani chased the girl out, barely giving her time to cover her scrawny, eczema-riddled body. Sanjay met Rani’s complaints of disgust with a mere shrug and a blank gaze from his heavily dilated pupils. But the mess gave her something on which to vent her anguish and frustration, and she felt a little calmer after making some tea and allowing herself a shot of the fierce, peppery spirit they kept for emergencies.