She must be really high. She turns over on her side like she does in yoga class. Under the bed, she notices something. She pulls out a credit card folded in half. “Jim,” she says. “This folded-up credit card is from 1991.” “So?” “Why would it be from 1991? Isn’t that weird?” “Is it?” “What do you think happened to this guy?” “I think focusing on the credit card is a bad idea right now.” “But what is this credit card doing there, under the bed, folded up from thirty-one years ago? I mean, I can’t think of any reasonable non-weird reason for it still being here.”
