In Memory of Iris Apfel

The soul was looking around (casting a shrewd eye for details); it made him nervous. "Well, you're all checked in," he said, giving the soul a hopeful smile. "I would imagine we've all got plenty of free time in paradise," the soul said (rhetorically), "so how about I take on this lobby. It gives me stately, traditional, Old World ... but there's no real color. Good use of pillars and clouds, but it's all clouds-and-pillars; white and gold and more white and more gold. If this is where all of us come to fly our colors ... where, we could say, all colors come home to rest ... well, I think we could do better." The soul stared at him then (no, THROUGH him) with those glasses; it was not having a "no" answer. "Red and black tend to be the dominant colors of ... you know," he said, pointing down. "Why do we care? We're everything," the soul stated plainly, throwing a couple of clouds off of the gold settee and wiping her hands.