There's a boy in a skirt wandering the streets, his feet and arms are bare and he looks like he's freezing and yet smiling all the same There's a spring to his step, a song on his lips His arms are in the air and he looks like he's reeving in the snow.

He stops a few feet away from Irene, crouching down and starting to draw in the snow, mixing words and pictures and grinning to himself,, even though he knows the whole thing will get trampled over soon enough.