Do You Want a Ride

I ran to the gorgeously designed convertible to see if it was wearing a wrap “It is original paint,” the owner told me. He was an artist, covered in paint. I wanted to go for a ride She was so beautiful in her fuchsias, yellows and limes. “She is a delight,” I told him. “like a gorgeous painting.” “Do you want a ride?” he asked me. Boy, did I, but I said no. Pretending to be normal for a change.