The pink reminded her of a time when colors had meaning, when her peers either ridiculed them or worshipped them. The pink reminded her of the flavor of the quotidian, sweet with fruit, savory with meat, yet always familiar and ever pleasant. But she was being ridiculous. Pink had no flavor, just as orange had no discernable flavor. The color orange, she had to remind herself. She had chosen a bad example. Yet the thread of her thoughts held on amidst distraction. Pink had no real reason to exist, for light red would have sufficed. She hated light red eye.
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