she stood by the bedroom window

‘ I like your hands’ she says, ‘you have hands like my father’
‘your father’s hands´ he says. ‘
‘And my father’s mouth.
Your father’s mouth?’
‘My father was an artist. He made wooden sculptors´ he had hands like an artist
I’m not an artist he says. You are’
No I’m not’ she replies. I work in a shoe shop.
‘I thought you painted.
Painted? I do like to paint though.
What kind of things?
She doesn’t answer.
I sell wood’ he says.
‘ I liked to paint’ she says after some time. ‘I’d like to paint your toes’
mistrust sets in.
my toes? why? He mutters.
Are you hungry?
A little’ he says.
I love the snow’ she says ‘it’s like a brand new page.