Rain drips from crooked eaves. The cobblestones gleam grey, and the whole town holds its breath.
Solito skips and sings loud enough to rattle the rain off the awnings. His grin spills yellow light onto the grey walls.
Splash. He jumps. Splash. He grins wider. The crooked house drips right on top of his head, and he doesn't care one bit.
Three grey windows. A woman sighs and turns her chair. A man's pipe goes cold. A cat stretches, yawns wide, and gives a slow blink.
Plop. Wet shoes, sputtering tongue. Then he laughs so hard the yellow glow around him stutters and flickers.
A thousand tiny fists pound the stones. Everyone hunches. Solito stands in the open street, no umbrella, still grinning.
His yellow light bounces off every puddle. Bounces, bounces, bounces. The whole lane shimmers.
A tired woman in a long coat sits on a step, crying. Her tears run into the gutter. She looks up.
She sees the big, yellow-spilling grin. Her crying stops. 'Oh,' she whispers. One blue patch pokes through the clouds.
They walk, his yellow glow and her small silver one mixing on the wet stones. Up in a window, a cat blinks and licks its paw.