in the car behind the carnival.
A young woman in blue jeans and a lot of silver jewelry is leaning against a wall in convenient proximity to an ashtray-bearing coffee table; she is smoking with the faintly genial, faintly fretful restlessness of someone who has had a very weird Wednesday (and it's not even noon). She smiles, though, in a bracingly confident sort of way.
"I'm looking for-- okay, I am going to say I'm looking for ways to fix a bad day, so that'd be cool, too, but in all honesty I'm more specifically curious. So, if someone you don't really like dies, do you feel obligated to speak well of them anyway? Would you be honest if someone asks your opinion, or if that whole slow rose-colored eclipsing of the truth that seems inevitable after the death of someone controversial starts to happen, would you object to it?"
She doesn't sound hugely inclined to talk a lot of shit right off the bat, but she is curious.