Even though the scenery seemed aristocratic, I was on a characteristically dilapidated kind of train, a really crummy (Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your Fears) kind of train, not entirely a spic-n-span kind of train, not the Orient Express kind of train, from Italy to Rome, sorry, rather, from Rome to Venice, or visa versa. And I remember two things distinctly that referenced that hovering day of highbrow summer: a. abandoned graffiti and b. poised rainbow flags hanging from all the inundated balconies. I was entirely clever in noticing. I thought, "Wow, they really embrace their gay community here." And then I found out about the rally. And thought, "Wow, they really embrace their gay community here." I was so overjoyed that their minds weren't vitiated by narrow-minded prejudice or thinly-veiled intolerance. I had faith that hope hadn't torn from its seams.Turns out that gay pride was thwarted by peace; the rainbow flags and banners that said "Pace" were really the doodied-up decorations for a perfectly parfit demonstration of peace. Hip hip hooray for peaceniks in tie-dye, but I was ultimately disappointed that we couldn't all be gay as pink ink. Anyway, after my gelato pick-me-up, which left me blithe in spirit, I was left marveling at the graffiti art, while sprightly skipping thru the streets, feeling jocular in rainbow toe-socks. You know, even under a nervous rain, not everyone can be a graffiti artist. I mean, it takes inventive lettering and something to say, more than a baseless tarradiddle. Maybe I'll drive up to Canada and graffiti something colorfully keen in the snow, nothing marred by verbosity, but rather, a one-word stream-of-consciousness catch-my-drift quip, from a sky-scraping ski lift.
If given the opportunity to aim a Krylon can, w/out arresting consequences, what would your bubble-letter byword be and what site would you choose?
without a doubt: hope
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