you are seating next to me in the library you are wearing black wellies and your breasts are soft and grey I stare at them for long sometimes you stare back your breasts are purple now and orange I stare at them for long sometimes they stare back a man of an average height approaches you he comes from a different country he talks to you about your breasts, grey and soft, now, again. You stare at him for long, sometimes he stares back. I can hear him talk he makes movements with his hands the timbre of his voice is soft ang grey you braid your hair i see your breasts, orange and purple and soft he makes a movement as if saying smoking or talking he types on the typewriter your breasts are now smiling your eyebrows lifting your teeth show he scrathes his neck you lean your breasts touch the table your breats push the table he writes on a typewriter he makes a movement as if talking or smoking he writes about your breats, green and purple and soft and blue you braid your hair you take your breast you put it in a soft cup and grey you look at it it is blue and grey and soft you put it back the man looks at me through his round glasses I pretend I am thinking I do a movement as if thinking or writing in a typewriter you braid your hair I drink from the plastic cup I can see the back of your bra through your blouse.