Color Wheel on a Gray Day

I took a walk in the rain with Lily, twirling my color wheel umbrella. I ran into Sylvia in her usual spot parked under the tree at Sunshine Pizza.

She told me about the day her daughter was born. Sylvia had been painting her daughter's bedroom purple when her water broke. She felt compelled to finish the job and wash the paint brushes before she drove herself to the hospital.

I ran into the sweet toothless lady with long blonde hair and decorated fingernails who sunbathes all summer by climbing out of her bedroom window onto a roof in a bikini in view of the four-way stop. And they do.

I ran into a pimp and a zombie prostitute both dressed in black leather. She was wearing dazed grey eyes, high heels and black tights. He reached over and took a potato chip from her wet crumpled bag to give to Lily.

"Aren't you cold in this rain?" I asked, noticing they were soaked.

"God loves us, he keeps us warm," the pimp said, laughing, as they walked toward the police station.

My outing was complete. I can return to my cave of books having tasted the colors of the day.