She saw red. The jerk behind her – the one using the f-word within earshot of children, the one who downed way too many beers already and was just starting on another -painted the shoulder of her brand-new, pale orange t-shirt with bright yellow mustard.
“Keep control of your hotdog,” she muttered as he failed to apologize.
But she wasn’t going to let a rogue wiener deface her picture-perfect day:
The lush green diamond and the cloudless blue sky against a backdrop of indigo-tinted Rockies. It was Monday and the team was wearing purple… or was that violet?