Blanche: Well, it couldn't be any worse than trying to sleep on a hard, wooden bench in the middle of a railway station.
Sophia: Boy, you do it anyplace, don't you, Blanche?
Rose: Blanche is talking about coming back from Edna McCarthy's funeral.
Sophia: Edna McCarthy is dead? Oh, my God, that's terrible. I just sent her a chain letter. There's a dollar I'll never see.