I suppose this is as good of an introduction as any other. I am walking from downtown. I am walking from a day of walking. From a day of writing in various coffeeshops and a day of thinking—where thinking is too strong a word. It’s more of a day of considering and observing. But mostly it’s been a day of waiting. I’m leaving downtown, passing on the outskirts of central campus. I’m on my way somewhere else. I’m expecting a phone call.
A kid shuffles out of the shadows, stoned immaculate. He looks at the sky sincerely puzzled and relentlessly confused. He asks me “where’s the rainbow?” It’s a fair question. It’s been drizzling or raining all day. I don’t want to be impolite, but I don’t know how to respond. I smile and gesture. I am surprised with the subtleness of that gesture. Is this me, in the mist, conveying [camaraderie / comradeship] with this lost leprechaun?
He doesn’t react. He doesn’t budge nor flinch. His eyes stay on that bit of sky a rainbow would be if there was going to be one. I continue through campus, through another campus and then…I’m at the busstop. It’s almost seven. No-one has gotten back to me yet. On the ground are three Uno cards. Two eights and one face down. I have 20 minutes until the next bus. I’m crazy with curiosity. I have to know what that third card is. I wonder if it’s another eight. I want to know. I want to prove that it is. But I’m terrified that it’s not. And what if it’s not? What if it’s a five or a four or a reverse? I don’t know what to do. The homeless guy on the bench eyes me with suspicion. He has a long white beard. But I need to know and need to not know what that facedown card is. I flip it over with my cold feet, a feat that takes much longer than it should. I flip it over and it’s a wild card. There’s your rainbow, kid.

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