The flat, dark sky is no match against the stubborn color of this city. Or maybe it is because of the heavy gray that St. John’s is so playful. The cab driver talks to me in gleeful unintelligibility about having never been off the island and how he’d love to go down in a submarine (or something like that), I’m teased sweetly by people I’ve just met, and run into boisterous, old friends at the movies. Walk outside and the rainbow streets are spilled with gruff and honest color.
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