She had just cast a curious look, first at my hair, then it had plunged his gaze into mine. She had green eyes and orange, and very short eyelashes. At first I even thought it did not. It was like fruit baskets stuck in the sockets. She had split her pretty little mouth in two, revealing two rows of white beads, to throw me a mischievous " pretty hat."
And then she was gone up the stairs, and in the middle of the stairs, gray cement looked stupid. She was very young, maybe too young. And I was convinced that I never see her again.
But I was wrong. And the hat takes the dust on a shelf somewhere.
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