The guy at the hardware store was no help. He said he wasn’t the usual paint guy. That guy had called in sick, and he was just filling in. He asked me to pull my shirt down.
“I wasn’t coming on to you,” I said, gingerly lowering it. “I just wanted you to get me a gallon or two of the same colour as the bruise. It’s pretty.”
I’d gotten hit by a bike while crossing the street a couple weeks back. It hurt. Still does. But I’d finally found the perfect shade of purple to paint the back room.
Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.