—Serge, the sky is green today.
—That is unusual. I’ve seen it pink and maybe orange or red, but mostly blue and at night, black, but I worry to call it green.
—That big space over there, we call it sky, look to it, not to me, that covering, that film, that sparkled gradient, that is green.
—I’m sorry sir, but isn’t that blue? Not to be difficult, I mean to give no offense, but it’s cloudless and clear to forever.
—Nevertheless green as meadows, as scum-covered ponds, as camouflaged trucks, as forest canopies, as the middle name of Roy Biv.
—I think I see it now, yes, definitely green. My denseness is at times a crutch, sir.
—Spread the truth of this matter.
—As you say.