"How do you like my manicure?" she asked, making small talk.
He glanced distractedly at her nails, knowing what to expect. Every month she got an expensive french manicure, and every month it looked exactly the same. Yet every month she asked him the same question. As though she needed his approval. A nod of his head, or a "Looks good".
He was about to give the same answer he gave every month but something caught his eye. She still had the same french tips, but the base of her nails had a layer of glitter. His head spun a little as the thought crossed his head: 'it looks like the stars from the entire universe have come down to dance on your fingertips'.
He gave a crisp nod and said, "Looks good."
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