I told her how in life we see our own hands, not our face.
She smiled.
The night was dark and clear. The stars made patterns, lots of patterns.
I poured us each another glass and we drank them, then I lit a cigarette for the two of us and we smoked it in turns.
She told me about her childhood, it sounded frightful. I told her so, thinking nothing of it, but she seemed offended.
I poured two more glasses.