Blue Door

[poliphilo]

I'm wandering around with my camera the way I do and I've found a Victorian factory building that looks promising.

Crumbly red brickwork, blue door.

Cerulean blue, sky blue.

I line up the shot.

"Hello." A small, elderly man has come up behind me. His sparse black hair is plastered wetly across his skull. "Something you like about that door?"

He thinks I'm an industrial spy.

"Yes," I say, "the colour."

"The colour?"

I nod encouragement.

He looks at me sidelong. "Hm, well, yes, the colour...."

(He will entertain his friends with this story- "I met a right tosser this afternoon....")

I smile.

He gives up on me, refrains from casting his eyes skyward (I'm bigger and fitter than him) and walks towards the blue door.