Ambling along Mexico City's Lincoln Park, the boy and I fell into a little art gallery. We had been fighting viciously, as only superheroes and villains can, and weren't looking where we were going. A little old woman who had been slumbering in solitude snorted awake and smiled at us.
'Hola,' said the boy.
'Buenas tardes,' said the woman.
She gestured at the visitor book. I looked at it. There hadn't been visitors for a day or two at least.
I scrawled a pseudonym.
'Come on, acha,' said the boy. 'Let us fight.'
'In a moment, please,' I said. 'Let us look at these paintings.'
He sighed and shuffled behind me.
There were several works hanging on the walls, but I only liked these.
|Mixoacan, by Gina F.|
|Man on the sea, by Gina F.|
|Camouflage, by Gina F.|
'Where would a dinosaur find an orange background?' I said.
'All the leaves at that time were orange,' he said.
'All the leaves?' I said.
'Okay, not all the leaves. But a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot of the leaves were orange.'
'So when it is not near those orange leaves, everybody could see it? Orange is a bright colour,' I said.
'Okay, so it did not have camouflage,' said the boy. 'I don't know. I wasn't there. It was a long time ago. Can we fight now?'