A short beginning with no end

I often write short, five sentence paragraphs to kick-start different pieces of fiction. Sometimes I never finish the story. The following is one of the works I never completed:

"Margaret had felt the urge to nuzzle Bobby when he finally rolled into bed – she wanted to crush her face into his neck or his arm and allow him, if he reached out, to touch her. But he crawled into the sheets reeking of smoke, the kind that marinated his skin, and it was too strong for her to pick out his natural scent, hidden underneath. And why would he leave his shirt on anyway? She rolled over and thought about her portrait of Danny Birkus, unfinished in the basement, which had since been pushed back against the bookshelf so Bobby could reach the drain access and get the roots out. She asked Bobby to take his shirt off, he complied and he put his hand on her hip, but she continued to stare at the wall."