Everything had turned blue. It all seemed so different now, twenty minutes later. Not a long time, really, but time is relative. She sat on the curb and tried to remember what had gone on when things were red, but that was never very clear to her. Red things moved too quickly, were blurry and fungible. One red thing looked much like another, whereas each blue thing was distinct. She took a sip of her beer, but now it tasted like an industrial cleaning product. If it were red, she would have thrown it into the gutter and taken pleasure in the shattering of the glass bottle, the brown glass glinting in the red. But it was blue, and there was a trash can four feet away. It was overflowing, though, so she set the bottle down carefully next to the can.
She went back to her spot on the curb and realized that there was a little rivulet of blood trickling down the sidewalk crack and into the gutter. With the toe of her sneaker, she smeared it in a wide arc, willing herself to see only where it was going, not where it came from. Blood was always red and had the unfortunate tendency to make everything else turn red with it.
It was almost dawn. A very blue time. There was still nobody around (people don't count if they don't move), so she picked her jacket up off the sidewalk and started for home. She hoped, when she got there, that everything would be blue for a while.