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She sat down and put her hand palm down on the table, revealing five different coloured nails - crimson, crocus yellow, emerald, magenta, cobalt blue - the varnish chipped and shrunk.

'I like your nails.' He slammed his lips shut.

'Why did you take it?'

The button burned in his palm. He slipped it into his pocket.

'Take what?'

'You pulled the button off.' She yanked up her coat, shook it at him - a snapped red thread. 'What kind of a weirdo does that?'

'I don't know what you -'

'Empty your pockets.'

She sounded so like a school teacher he found himself obeying her. He pulled a ragged tissue, a two pence coin, a bus ticket and a red button from his pocket and placed them on the table. She picked up the button between her finger - crocus yellow - and thumb - crimson.

'What d'you want a button for?'

'It was about to fall off.'

'Why did you want it?'

He didn't look clean, she decided, staring at him. Thin semi-circles of dirt nestled beneath each fingernail and his skin had a grey, exhausted look. In the other way too: no doubt he masturbated over cheap porn in some Camden basement flat.

'I'm having a bad enough day,' she said. 'Without nutters trying to steal my stuff.'

'I'm sorry.'

She looked at the button for a moment, tucked it into her coat pocket.