Brian can’t remember where the idea came from. Maybe a dream? He woke up one morning and knew he wanted to make the world more beautiful. He started painting Big Ben with poster paints. And then he moved on to the Houses of Parliament. Everyone smiled. Sharing the same dream.
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The concrete slabs are warmed every year by the leather soles padding up and down the High Street, the overhanging fairy lights glittering in the damp surface. The gold lights give an impression of warmth but when the shops close for Christmas, Gerry only sees blue from behind his cardboard.
Rachael wove her way through the murmuring crowd. There, she'd found it, laying flat on cool stone slabs. Squinting didn't help much. Neither did opening her eyes wide. Blinking rapidly just gave her a headache, while not blinking just brought pain. The colors were bright. She couldn't see beyond them.
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