a ninety fourth story...'nose'

‘There’s something growing out of your face’, said Shirley.  ‘It’s my nose’, said Brian.  ‘I know’, said Shirley.  ‘Then why point it out?’, said Brian, ‘you know I have issues about my nose’.  ‘It isn't whether you have issues about your nose or not’, said Shirley, ‘it’s because I think you’re lying’.  ‘Lying about what?’, asked Brian.  ‘Lying about you know what!’, Shirley.  Brian touched his nose.  And then rubbed under his eye.  ‘What do you mean by you know what?’ Shirley was scowling at him from under her new fringe. She was trying not to blink.  Brian sighed, ‘you’re being daft’, he said. Shirley’s nose was twitching, as it always did when she was drunk, angry, excited.  She raised her chin.  ‘Your nose is so long and wonky just now!’, Shirley exclaimed.  Brian sat down on the stair, took out his cigarette papers.  His beard was unkempt.  And his hair was lank, unwashed.  He had dry, red skin under his eyes, a wonky nose, big mother-me eyes.  Shirley liked these.  Swimming pool eyes she called them when Brian gazed at her with love.  Shirley took a wobbly step backwards, bit her top lip and pouted.  ‘Can I have a cigarette?’, she asked after a moment’s silence.  Brian licked the end of his rollie, tapped it on his knee.  ‘You don’t smoke’, he said.  ‘I know’, said Shirley.  ‘Then why ask for a cigarette?’, Brian.  ‘I want some fresh air’, Shirley.  Brian laughed, ‘Where’s your coat?’ he said.  ‘Where did you get that tobacco?’, Shirley said.  Brian stood up and took Shirley in his arms, Shirley melted into his embrace, Brian kissed her on the forehead, then on the lips. ‘No more mention of my nose’, he said.  Shirley sniffled.  ‘Let’s go home’, she said.