conformity

I trekked from Brisbane inner city, homeward bound, over the Victoria Bridge, on nightfall. Once over the bridge, I followed the street curving around and under it, so that I emerged near the art gallery and the library. Gathered on the grounds were hundreds, even several thousands, of artists, writers and arts practitioners. Every single person was wearing black. I looked down and saw that I, too, was dressed entirely in black. I was disappointed and determined that I should change my outfit, that I would dress, from now on, in colour.