A wall stands before him.
A bag of bottles of spray paint by his side
Another bag full of colorful rags
He sets the bags down
pulls on a gas mask
and gets to work
The sun is high
sweat drips down his face
busy people walk by a random street artist
But he doesn’t care
He is in his world
The colors and ideas swim in his mind
like an array of fish in the ocean
His arm becomes red
But he doesn’t care
he grabs another bottle
This time a leg becomes blue
again the painter doesn’t notice
He continues on
The more cans of paint he grabs
the more colorful his body becomes
He is a rainbow in the darkness surrounding him
He works long into the night.
Well, others are home with their loving families
He still doesn’t care
Soon the mural is finished
and the Painter?
He has become every color of the rainbow
and as he sinks to the ground, he turns to a puddle of color
There is no one around to see the painter become something he is not,
but why would anyone even care?
After all, he is just another street painter.
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