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A figure under streetlights, his gesticulating arms spread wide as he stood in front of his companion.
The high-pressure sodium-vapor lamps of yore have a way of collapsing the color spectrum just so; the deep shade of his skin made less of an impression, and I couldn't discern what color his open denim jacket was, nor his sagging jeans, layered undergarments and assorted street jewelry, contrasty basketball shoes which could as easily be blue as red. Tonight he was just a forty-something figure cloaked in monochromatic orange. I called out to him.
[The rest of this story is available in my new book.]
The high-pressure sodium-vapor lamps of yore have a way of collapsing the color spectrum just so; the deep shade of his skin made less of an impression, and I couldn't discern what color his open denim jacket was, nor his sagging jeans, layered undergarments and assorted street jewelry, contrasty basketball shoes which could as easily be blue as red. Tonight he was just a forty-something figure cloaked in monochromatic orange. I called out to him.
[The rest of this story is available in my new book.]
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